


the lost prince

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-02 14:35:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: The royal family was massacred 15 years ago, but the kingdom has always held out hope that the lost prince would return. Meanwhile, Nezumi has been acting strange, and Shion isn't sure why his best friend of 14 years keeps giving him these looks that escalate one night to more than just an expression Shion cannot explain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote and posted this fic in December, 2015, and I'll be reposting it one chapter every day (even though clearly it's already completed). 
> 
> I'm reposting some of my old fics from the many accounts I previously deleted over the past few years, so if you're familiar with my fics and want to request that I repost a certain old fave, feel free to message me at my tumblr: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com or comment on this post: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com/post/160488980276/danielles-nezushifree-fics and I'll be happy to consider reposting it! For both my new readers and my old guys, hope you enjoy the fic!! :D

Shion woke, sweating, though his feet and left arm and other small squares of skin around his body were freezing.

            He curled his body against the mattress, confused, but the movement of his limbs brought his awareness to a weight over areas of his torso, legs, arms.

            Shion opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the dark of the room. He was startled by the weight, but mostly curious. It was not uncomfortable. The source of weight appeared, as Shion blinked the darkness away, to be also the source of the heat.

            When the outline of his desk could be made out, Shion turned under the weight, careful not to shake it off until he could figure out what it was. Along with his movements came a sigh of breath, but the breath was not his, and it produced a spring of hot air over his shoulder.

            Shion narrowed his eyes, sleepiness fading as his curiosity sharpened, but then his answer came in the form of dark feathers.

            Not feathers. Hair. They spread over the features of the man curled across him, arms and legs winding around Shion, producing the weight over Shion’s limbs, the heat kissing his flesh. Nezumi’s head was turned, exhales filtered through an agitated sheen of hair, falling against Shion’s shoulder.

            The patches of cold could be explained in that Shion was, but for Nezumi’s extremities and Shion’s shorts and t-shirt, wholly uncovered. Nezumi, it seemed, had stolen all of the blanket, wrapped it tight around his legs and waist so that he seemed rather stuck in it, caught as if in a tornado.

            Shion hesitated, then reached out with his arm that was not pinned down by Nezumi’s own. He caught his fingers in Nezumi’s hair, attempted to move it from Nezumi’s face. He’d never seen Nezumi asleep before, save for when they were much younger, and Shion hadn’t found himself nearly as mesmerized years ago as he felt now.

            He only managed to move a few strands, a couple clumps. Nezumi’s face was not much uncovered, but what was seemed awfully peaceful. Shion liked this version of his friend, and took to watching it instead of allowing himself to fall back asleep. After what may have been several minutes or several hours, Shion caught onto a pattern.

            Occasionally, Nezumi’s lips would move, silently, breath increasing in force against Shion’s shoulder. At other times, his closed eyelids would jerk, small flickerings of expression that would be accompanied by flinches of heat on Shion’s body – Nezumi’s fingers on Shion’s skin would rustle, or his leg thrown over Shion’s legs would jolt.

            It was fascinating. And despite the disconcerting juxtaposition of his body, at once too hot and too cold, Shion was glad that Nezumi had shoved him over on the bed earlier that night, insisting Shion could be a decent host and share the space Shion had argued was much too small to fit the both of them.

            Shion had been surprised, first, when Nezumi proclaimed he was too exhausted to walk home in this dark, and second, when Nezumi insisted the floor of Shion’s room would not do. Nezumi wasn’t one to admit to things like exhaustion, and Shion knew for a fact that the man had slept for long periods of time in harsher conditions than a carpeted floor.

            Still, Nezumi had been adamant, and in the end, Shion had, clearly, conceded.

            But at this moment, Shion was not surprised. Finding that Nezumi had tangled himself into Shion in his sleep was almost an obvious outcome, now that Shion was thinking about it. The man was always touching Shion when they were awake. Ruffling Shion’s hair, pushing Shion, touching the scar on Shion’s cheek, pinning Shion down. Shion knew him to be a touchy person, despite the distance he kept from everyone else – why should that change in Nezumi’s sleep?

            Never before, had Shion thought about the reason as to why he was the exception to Nezumi’s distance. Why Nezumi didn’t seem to mind laughing on Shion’s shoulder, strewing himself over Shion’s legs after a long day. Why Shion was allowed to see that Nezumi was not so composed and mysterious, cool or collected, as Nezumi displayed himself to others.

            It had just seemed natural, for Nezumi to act differently around Shion. Shion had never stopped to think about it, because it had never been something to think about. It was just something that was.

            But now, as Shion watched Nezumi sleep, he wondered. Wondered why Nezumi had accepted Shion’s help, the very first day they met, when Shion had never seen Nezumi accept help from anyone else since. Wondered why Nezumi kept coming back, after that first day, when Nezumi had never bothered to keep any other ties from his past.

            Shion was still wondering when he fell back asleep, too soon to see Nezumi open his eyes, too soon to catch the sleepy smile stretch over Nezumi’s lips when Nezumi realized whom he had woken up besides.

*

The second time Shion woke, his eyes didn’t need time to adjust, as the room was washed in a soft light from the sun slipping through slatted blinds.

            Shion blinked, rolled over, found himself fully warm – not hot, not cold – and realized Nezumi was not in bed with him. Shion himself had been covered by the blanket, which he pulled around himself for just a moment, stretching underneath it, turning to face the side of the bed where Nezumi had slept and vacated.

            After a minute or two of lying still, Shion pushed the blanket from his body and sat up, stretching again as he stood. He rubbed his eyes, left his room to the bathroom in the hall that he shared with his mother. He peed, washed his face, brushed his teeth, wondering if the bristles were already slightly damp before he used them or if that was just his imagination.

            It was only as he walked downstairs to the bakery below his and his mother’s living space that he heard Nezumi’s voice, soft and mixed with Shion’s mother’s.

            “Good morning, Shion,” Karan said, as Shion walked into the kitchen. She had been sitting at the table besides Nezumi, but on Shion’s entrance, stood up and hugged him before grabbing a mug for him from the cupboard.

            “Morning,” Shion said, to his mother, then glanced at Nezumi, who nodded at him.

            “Morning, Your Majesty.”

            “Hi, Nezumi.” Shion wondered if Nezumi had told his mother that he’d slept over. If they needed an explanation.

            Probably not. Karan knew Nezumi often stayed late into the night, while he and Shion closed the bakery and more often than not lost track of time talking at one of the tables they were supposed to be wiping down.

            It was a routine that had stretched out for years. That last night Nezumi had been too tired to go home, had slept over instead, should only have been surprising in that it hadn’t occurred before.

            “It’s nice having Nezumi here in the mornings. He can keep me company while you sleep in,” Karan teased, and Shion wondered if she thought Nezumi would be sleeping over more often.

            Would he?

            “I’ve got to get going soon. I’ve got a morning show,” Nezumi said, yawning and standing up. He took his mug to the sink, was washing it when Karan stopped him.

            “I’ll get that,” Karan said, pushing Nezumi away gently, and he grudgingly let her. “Shion, honey, do we have any eggs?”

            Shion checked the fridge, saw that there were only two in the carton. “I’ll get some now,” Shion said, nodding at Nezumi. “I can go on my way to the theater with you. Ready?”

            Nezumi was grabbing a scone from a foil-covered plate on the counter. He popped it in his mouth and squeezed Karan’s arm gently in thanks before following Shion out the bakery, both men stopping to grab their jackets and put on their shoes before walking into the cool morning.

            The streets, despite the early hour, were busy. The festival was in two days, and people were already putting up decorations on houses and shopfronts. Shion himself would be out of the kitchen today, putting up the lights and ribbons in the windows and doorway of the bakery.

            “You’re coming over after, right?” he asked, looking up at Nezumi, who did not seem to notice the unusually busy streets around him as he finished off his scone. He was staring instead up at the sky, but glanced down at Shion on Shion’s question.

            “A bit presumptuous, Your Majesty, maybe I feel awkward about our one-night stand,” he joked, lips turning up just at the corner.

            “You promised you’d help me put up lights. You know I can’t reach those top windows without the ladder, and that thing is rickety,” Shion said, sternly, not letting Nezumi change the subject.

            “I can’t reach the windows without the ladder either,” Nezumi argued, grin disappearing as he narrowed his eyes.

            “Yeah, but you only have to step on two rungs. I have to step on three. Statistically, I’m more likely to fall.”

            “Oh, so you’re fine with risking my life as long as statistics are on your side.”

            “Stop complaining. You better not come late. My mother will be counting on you to have the lights up by tonight.”

            “Don’t guilt trip me with your mother!” Nezumi complained, drawing out a long sigh and running a hand through his bangs.

            “So you’ll come?”

            “Are you still talking?” Nezumi grumbled.

            “Oooh, look at the flower shop, Nezumi, they have new arrangements out already!” Shion said, pointing, having gotten distracted by the new display of silver roses. They were a specialty of the flower shop, and the shop-owner refused to tell the secret of how she turned white roses silver. Shion speculated that she soaked the stem in some sort of silver dye, though he couldn’t be sure.

            The silver flowers were only displayed and sold a few nights a year, on the days leading up to the festival, of course, in honor of the Silver Royals, as they were known in the kingdom.

            “That’s probably just spray paint, you know,” Nezumi said, glancing over as well and frowning at the flowers.

            “No, it’s not. The petals are too soft.”

            “Does anyone know what you’re talking about, or am I the only one in the dark?” Nezumi asked.

            “You know, I don’t think it’d be too painful for you to actually enjoy the festival one year. And I’m making you go. Don’t think you’re getting out of it with some stupid excuse like last time,” Shion chastised, predicting the disapproving click of Nezumi’s tongue.

            “Why should I waste my time celebrating a dead family?” he asked, mildly, eyebrows raised as he looked again at Shion.

            “Because they’re still our royal family, even if they are deceased. And anyway, the lost prince isn’t dead.”

            “Ah yes, well, I do know that, don’t I, Your Majesty?” Nezumi asked, nudging Shion’s side and grinning, but Shion just shook his head, ignoring Nezumi’s usual joke – which had gotten a bit old, after so many years.

            Since the first time they’d met, Nezumi found it hilarious to claim Shion was the lost prince – the only member of the Silver Royals whose body had not been found in the aftermath of the massacre. Nezumi claimed Shion was spoiled enough to have been raised as royalty. Shion didn’t know where Nezumi was coming up with his ideas of royalty. Shion had no more money or status than anyone else in their kingdom – except, perhaps, Nezumi himself, but that was only because Nezumi had been relatively homeless before the day he and Shion met.

            Shion stopped walking, having reached the grocer where he would pick up the eggs, and Nezumi stopped too, amusement still crossed over his features.

            “Grumpy or not, I expect you to be at the bakery after your show. It’s the fifteenth anniversary in honor of the Silver Royals, so the festival is going to be even bigger than usual. I want the bakery to look good,” Shion said.

            Nezumi took a step back, already walking away from Shion, but his grin grew the smallest bit more before he turned around. “Well, if you want it, Your Majesty, who am I to refuse?” he called, over his shoulder, dramatically as was his tendency, Shion had long since noted.

            Being an actor definitely suited the man, so different from the boy Shion had met at this very same grocer’s stand, just over fourteen years before.

            Shion smiled at Nezumi’s back, then turned to buy the eggs for his mother so that he could return home and begin preparing for the festival as quickly as possible.

*

When Nezumi fell from the ladder, Shion tried to catch him.

            They both ended up laid out on the cobblestone outside the bakery, Nezumi cursing and Shion wincing.

            “Shit, I knew this would happen,” Nezumi muttered, and Shion shouted when his friend tried to stand up.

            “Ow! That’s my ankle you’re stepping on, you know,” he complained.

            “Why exactly did you decide to jump under me when I fell? If you wanted me on top of you, you could have simply confessed your love like a normal person,” Nezumi groaned, moving his foot to the left of Shion’s ankle and standing up, brushing his hands together before reaching one out for Shion to take.

            Shion gripped it, and Nezumi pulled him up.

            “I was trying to catch you,” Shion explained, letting go of Nezumi’s hand and bending down to examine his right knee. His pants were torn, and the new hole in them revealed skinned flesh.

            “Were you trying to drop me as well, or was that part an accident?” Nezumi asked, examining his elbow.

            Shion glared at him, and Nezumi looked up from his arm.

            “You could thank me,” Shion suggested.

            Nezumi just blinked at him, then looked down at Shion’s knee. “Are you okay?” he asked, which took Shion by surprise, making him forget Nezumi’s absent gratitude.

            “What? Oh, that’s just a scrape. I’m fine.”

            “We should get a band-aid on it. Come on, Your Majesty, can’t have the lost prince getting injured before the festival in his honor, now can we?”

            Shion squinted at Nezumi, knowing he wasn’t the kind of person to even acknowledge a scrape. On catching sight of the lights behind him that Nezumi had failed to put up before his fall, Shion realized what the man must have been attempting.

            “You’re just trying to get out of putting up the lights,” Shion accused.

            Nezumi had already walked towards the bakery door, and glanced over his shoulder at Shion to respond. “How am I supposed to put them up without a ladder, may I ask?”

            Shion thought about this, then brightened as an idea came to him. “I could sit on top of your shoulders!” he exclaimed, and Nezumi just looked at him blankly for another moment before walking into the bakery, giving Shion no choice but to follow.

            Inside the bakery was somewhat crowded – Karan had a special festival menu that she’d just made available that morning – but Nezumi easily slipped through them, and Shion followed clumsily, relieved to be at the stairs but wincing at his knee as he climbed them.

            Nezumi had already walked into the bathroom, was opening the cupboard in which he knew the band-aids were – Shion hadn’t moved them in the fourteen years since he’d gotten one for Nezumi himself, after all.

            “Sit,” Nezumi instructed, pointing at the toilet, the lid of which he’d just closed.

            Shion sighed, walked around Nezumi, and sat as he was commanded, watching Nezumi pick a band-aid from the box and peel off the wrapping.

            “You know, I’m really fine,” Shion offered, as Nezumi crouched in front of him.

            He placed the band-aid on Shion’s uninjured knee, then rolled up the ripped leg of Shion’s pants in careful movements, slowing as he reached the knee.

            “Ow,” Shion breathed, the syllable slipping out as the fabric of his jeans skimmed his skinned flesh.

            “Sorry,” Nezumi said, quietly, and Shion was so taken aback by the unexpected apology that he forgot about the sharp pain.

            He watched in silence as Nezumi took the band-aid and applied it to his knee. Nezumi’s fingers brushed his skin as he flattened the sides, and Shion watched the man, fascinated.

            He’d rarely seen Nezumi concentrate so hard on something, but for maybe new scripts of his plays. All he was doing was applying a simple band-aid – Shion couldn’t wrap his head around Nezumi’s concerned expression.

            He sought to get rid of it. Shion didn’t know what to do with a concerned Nezumi. It wasn’t a side of his friend he’d seen often.

            “I’m really okay, you know,” Shion insisted, again, leaning a bit closer, and Nezumi looked up at him.

            Shion rarely saw the man looking up at him. At least, not in years, since Nezumi had grown taller than Shion, surpassing him by inches that always led to Shion looking up at Nezumi.

            It was strange, to see the silver eyes tilted up, wider than usual, Shion thought.

            Shion didn’t feel so okay, suddenly. A little hot, actually, but he wasn’t sure scraped knees normally led to such symptoms.

            He tried to think of something to say, thought he needed to say something or else Nezumi might just keep looking at him like that, and Shion didn’t know what to do with such a look from his friend, didn’t know how to read this look, didn’t know how to react to it.

            “You know, it’s kind of funny,” Shion murmured, and a small crease found its way between Nezumi’s eyes, which were still calmly trained on Shion.

            A bit more than calm, though. There was something else, something else…

            Nezumi still didn’t say anything, so Shion had no choice but to continue the conversation on his own.

            “Kind of funny how I’m sitting here, and you’re in front of me, putting a band-aid on me. It’s opposite. Do you remember?” Shion asked, wishing Nezumi would remember, would respond that he remembered, would say something, lean back, break this gaze Shion didn’t know how to hold much longer.

            His wish was granted. Nezumi looked at him a moment more, then stood up, stepped away from Shion, put the band-aid box that he’d left on the sink back into the open cupboard.

            “Remember what?” he asked quietly, into the cupboard before closing it.

            Shion swallowed, looked away from Nezumi, tried to breathe evenly, unsure why his breaths were uneven in the first place. He stared at the wall in front of him, imagining the small boy, drenched in rain, who’d sat on the closed lid of this toilet over fourteen years before while an equally soaked Shion rummaged in the cupboard for the box of band-aids, heart thumping too loud in this small bathroom as if he had known in that moment that his life afterward would never be the same.

            “The first day we met?” Shion asked.

            He glanced, then, away from the wall, back at Nezumi, but Nezumi was washing his hands, not seeming to be paying attention.

            He looked at Shion only after he’d dried his hands.

            “Of course I don’t. That was, what, over ten years ago? Who remembers that?” he asked, easily, at the doorway of the bathroom now, bangs in his eyes.

            Shion blinked at him. “A little over fourteen years,” he corrected. Fourteen years and two months, actually. Just two months before the first festival, just two months shy of the first full year after the Silver Royals had been killed, after the lost prince had disappeared.

            “We should get back to the lights. It’s almost dark, and I don’t want to disappoint your mother,” Nezumi said, to the doorframe, but then he was looking at Shion, expression completely blank, and Shion nodded, not knowing what else to do.

            He knew Nezumi did not like talking about his past, after all. Not that Nezumi could remember most of it. Only three times before had Shion been able to talk to him about it, and all three times Nezumi had only shrugged, said he didn’t remember much past a few months before Shion had found him, swiping fruit from the grocer in the middle of a storm.

            The stain of blood had been hidden in the dark drench of rain, and Shion had only discovered Nezumi’s wound on catching the wince Nezumi had almost hidden – almost, but even then, Shion thought Nezumi allowed him to see more of what he was hiding than anyone else.

            Shion sat on the closed lid of the toilet a moment longer, thinking of this younger Nezumi, the boy who had grown beside him, trusting him gradually, befriending him inevitably. He’d never been easy to read, but over the years, understanding Nezumi had become easier, more natural.

            Shion wondered why, now, he suddenly seemed to be forgetting where to find Nezumi’s thoughts when the man hid them in his expressions.

            Shion stood up, slowly, waiting to feel pain from his knee, but there was no sting, and Shion waited only a second more before walking out of the bathroom, turning the light off behind him, and following Nezumi back outside to figure out how to get up those lights.

*

Nezumi laid across Shion’s bed, complaining, while Shion studied for an exam at his desk.

            He was taking online classes at a university so that he could still help his mother out in the bakery while he got his medical degree. He’d be graduating soon, by the end of the month, actually, and would be relieved to no longer have to worry about homework and exams.

            Not because he particularly minded them, but because there was never much time to complete them without distraction in the form of the man currently on his bed, glaring at a script.

            “It’s this new manager. He thinks he’s innovative, the asshole.”

            “I’m sure you can do it. You aren’t the all-talented Eve for nothing, right?” Shion said, trying to be encouraging while memorizing the limbic system.

            “Did I say I couldn’t do it? Of course I can memorize a script in a day, a monkey could memorize a script in a day,” Nezumi snapped, and Shion didn’t bother looking up from his textbook at his friend.

            He knew the look of Nezumi’s glare well enough to be able to picture it quite clearly in his own head, after all.

            “So, what’s the problem?” Shion sighed, scratching his nose with the back of his pen.

            “Just because I can do it doesn’t mean it’s not complete abuse to force me to. He threatened my job when I told him off, did I mention that?”

            “You did,” Shion mumbled, scribbling a description in his notebook, then crossing it out, having gotten his words mixed up what with Nezumi’s flitting around inside his head.

            “The rest of the crew is thrilled. Apparently, they’ve been wanting to put on a festival play in honor of the goddamn royals for years. What bullshit is that? The theater isn’t even open the day of the festival! We’re just putting on the play for one goddamn day.”

            Shion finally looked up. “Do my season tickets apply, or do I have to get special ones?”

            “What?” Nezumi asked, distracted from his complaining. He blinked at Shion. “You want to come?”

            “Obviously. I think a festival play is a great idea. If I have to reserve tickets, please let me know. If there’s only going to be three shows tomorrow, the tickets will go fast, and I’d like to get one for my mother as well.”

            Nezumi stared. “The season tickets don’t apply. You’ve got to get special ones, and they’re double the price.”

            “That’s fine.”

            “It’s theft, Shion. Don’t just blindly wave your money at anyone trying to take it from you,” Nezumi advised, sternly.

            Shion smiled at him. “I’ll keep that advice in mind. Please make sure you get me two tickets first thing when you go to the theater for your early rehearsal tomorrow, I’ll give you the money now.”

            “Ridiculous,” Nezumi was mumbling, as Shion stood up, found his wallet, and walked over to the bed to offer it to Nezumi.

            Nezumi glared at it for a moment, then grabbed the money from Shion’s hand and stuffed it between pages of the script he was memorizing.

            “What part are you, anyway?” Shion asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and peeking over Nezumi’s shoulder at the script. “Need help rehearsing?”

            “Haven’t you got your test tomorrow?” Nezumi asked, suspiciously.

            Shion shrugged. “I could use a break from studying,” he said, even though he hadn’t actually gotten much studying in.

            Still, this was a specialty play, and Shion always loved practicing with Nezumi, especially since he’d been getting better at his line reading, even earning a few compliments from Nezumi over the years.

            “That reminds me, though, don’t get us tickets for your morning show. Night is probably best, but if that’s all taken, afternoon is fine, we’ll just close up the bakery early.”

            Nezumi didn’t reply, instead rolled over from his stomach to his back, holding the script book over his face so that Shion couldn’t see inside it.

            “Are you going to tell me who you were cast as? Is it a main role? Wait – Are you one of the Silver Royals?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi lowered the book enough to peek at Shion, revealing bored eyes. “You’ll find out tomorrow, won’t you?”

            “Tell me now!”

            “Go study, Your Majesty, you’ll make your mother cry if you fail out of school,” Nezumi said, dryly, eyes on his script now, which he’d lifted enough from his face in order to read.

            “I won’t fail.”

            “So cocky,” Nezumi said, disapprovingly, shaking his head.

            Shion considered bothering Nezumi more until the man told him who he’d been cast as in the play, but gave up and got off his bed with a loud exhale, flopping back down at his desk and attempting to study.

            Nezumi was right, even if he was just saying things to get Shion off his case. Shion needed to focus.

            He studied into the night, and it was late when he heard Nezumi stirring on the bed – the man had fallen asleep an hour or so after Shion had left him alone, but Shion had hesitated to wake him, cherishing the rare moments of finally being allowed to concentrate without distraction.

            Even so, Shion found himself occasionally glancing over his shoulder at Nezumi’s sleeping form on his bed. The man looked so peaceful, resting his cheek on his arm, script having fallen out of his limp fingers onto the mattress.

            On the sounds of his waking, Shion looked at him again, watched Nezumi rub his eyes and sit up, yawning.

            He blinked at Shion, lazily.

            “I should go,” he said, after a second, voice scratchy from sleep.

            “You can sleep over again,” Shion offered. “Although you’ll have to try and stop yourself from stealing the entire blanket this time. Did you do that on purpose, or is that a subconscious thing? Hoarding in sleep can actually have a deep psychological meaning.”

            Nezumi just shook his head, standing up and rolling his script book to tuck it into his back pocket. “I should go,” he said again.

            “I don’t mind if you stay,” Shion insisted, thinking of how cold it was outside, how dark it must have been by this hour.

            Nezumi didn’t reply, didn’t even look at Shion until he was at Shion’s doorway. “Goodnight,” he said, hand on the doorway, and Shion again was left with an expression from his friend that he didn’t know what to do with.

            Not concern, this time. Softness, mostly, but that wasn’t an emotion, that didn’t make sense.

            Shion figured Nezumi was just tired. Sleepiness softening his usually sharp features, nothing more than that.

            “Goodnight, Nezumi,” Shion replied, and then Nezumi was gone, and Shion only let himself stare at the emptiness of his doorway for a moment before turning back to his textbook.

            He exhaled deeply, turned a page of his book, then jumped at the sound of his name, surprised despite the softness of the voice around it.

            “Shion.”

            Shion spun around, amazed to see Nezumi back in his doorway, like a magic trick.

            Had he ever walked away?

            “What is it, Nezumi?” Shion asked, concerned, looking away from the man only to glance quickly around his room, wondering if Nezumi had forgotten something.

            “Don’t fail your exam tomorrow,” Nezumi said, once Shion had looked back at him, determining there was nothing of the man’s possession remaining in his room but for Nezumi’s voice, now, drifting from his doorway.

            Shion tilted his head. “I won’t,” he said, unsure, and Nezumi nodded, leaned forward only an inch, then retreated and was gone again.

            This time, Shion didn’t look away from the doorframe for a full minute. In this time, he realized two things: one, that this was Nezumi’s way of wishing him good luck, and two, that Nezumi was not coming back a third time.

            Shion turned around, examined his textbook again, and tried to concentrate on the words in front of him rather than the voice still soft inside his head.

*

Even though Nezumi had managed to get them night show tickets, Shion and Karan still closed the bakery early.

            Shion wanted to stop at the flower shop before the show, get Nezumi a rose.

            “I know he’ll say he hates them, but even if he pretends to, doesn’t everyone love roses?” Shion asked, picking out just one long-stemmed rose for his best friend.

            Karan just laughed. “That Nezumi doesn’t like to do what everyone else does, though, does he?” she said, smiling, then added, squeezing Shion’s hand, “but if it’s from you, I’m sure he’ll love it.”

            The crowd began yards away from the theater entrance, and Shion knew it would be overbooked. Nezumi had gotten them special cast invites, allowing them to surpass the line and be amongst the first to find their seats in the largest auditorium of the theater. Shion led Karan to the middle of row 18 – where Nezumi had told him were the best seats in the house.

            “Who is Nezumi playing?” Karan asked after most of the seats had filled, leaning into Shion to be heard over the loudness of the excited crowd.

            “He refused to tell me,” Shion complained.

            “That must mean he’s nervous,” Karan replied, surprising Shion, who glanced at her.

            “Nezumi? He’s never nervous. He’s always amazing, anyway, he has no need to be nervous.”

            “Everyone gets nervous, Shion. Nezumi may not follow the crowd in most respects, but nobody can simply avoid emotion. Nezumi is just better at hiding his,” Karan said, smiling slightly.

            “Do you really think Nezumi is nervous?” Shion asked, squeezing his hand around the stem of his rose.

            “I think Nezumi is more human than he wants you to think,” Karan replied, and Shion wanted to ask her what she meant – of course he knew Nezumi was a human – but then the lights were dimming, and Shion forgot about his confusion as the curtain rose, revealing Nezumi himself, center stage, in the perfect view of the seats Shion had chosen.

*


	2. Chapter 2

The crowd around Nezumi was too much for Shion to get through, and so at first, he and Karan waited.

            After a half hour, Karan was leaning on Shion’s arm, and Shion told her to go home, he’d tell Nezumi she loved the play, not to worry, Nezumi would understand. Ruefully, Karan left, giving Shion an extra hug to transfer to Nezumi, and he promised he would.

            Eve always had fans, people asking for autographs, photographs, but this was the first time the crowd had been so big, and Shion understood this well. His performance had been – well, unbelievable. Shion still wasn’t sure he could believe it, and he’d witnessed Nezumi’s talent countless times.

            An hour passed, and only more people seemed to be bottlenecked in the doorway where the dressing room led to the main lobby of the theater. Shion had given up trying to push his way through – many of Eve’s biggest fans were much larger than him, and he didn’t want anyone jostling him hard enough to smash his silver rose.

            It wouldn’t matter, anyway. Shion would have to wait for the entire crowd to disperse anyway, as he’d planned on walking Nezumi home. A few moments would not be enough, for Shion to say what he wanted to say.

            Not that he really knew what he wanted to say. He was speechless from Nezumi’s performance. It hardly seemed like a performance, felt more like a reality, a different reality from that which Shion knew, but a reality all the same. Just Nezumi, standing on stage, not as Eve, not as an actor, but as himself, more open than Shion had ever seen him.

            Of course, Nezumi wasn’t playing himself. He was cast as the lost prince, a role Shion would never have imagined Nezumi could play so seamlessly, so naturally.

            Shion took to leaning against the lobby wall. He knew Nezumi would be annoyed – it’d been two hours, and people still lingered, vying for just a chance to see him one more time. But Nezumi was always gracious to his fans – at least, those who didn’t try to make a move on him – and Shion could imagine Nezumi, tired as he must be, sporting his Eve smile, slight and just a bit seductive, charming his fans, making them fall even more in love with them than they already had while watching him on stage.

            Shion thought about what his mother had said, that Nezumi was more human than he wanted Shion to think. Sometimes, admittedly, Shion thought Nezumi was something more. His talent, his beauty, his way of manipulating other people, it was really fascinating, Shion had always found.

            When two hours and twenty-three minutes had passed, Shion slid down the wall, sat with his knees to his chest, rested the rose between them, tilted his head against the wall. He listened to the continuing chorus that rang out for Nezumi beside him, steady and eternal, like a lullaby.

*

“Your Majesty.”

            Shion opened his eyes at the shake of his shoulders, and there were Nezumi’s eyes, right before him, watching him deeply.

            “Nezumi,” Shion murmured, and he felt Nezumi’s finger on his cheek, tracing his scar, then gone.

            “Come on,” Nezumi said softly, shifting in his crouch to wrap an arm under Shion’s arms and pull him up.

            Shion stood, blearily, trying to focus as Nezumi bent back down, then stood up again.

            “This yours?” Nezumi asked, holding out the silver rose that must have dropped when Shion had fallen asleep.

            Shion smiled. “Yours, actually. Congratulations, Nezumi. You were – amazing isn’t even good enough of a word, let’s walk home and I’ll think of a better one.”

            Nezumi twirled the stem of the rose between his fingers, then nodded at its petals, and they walked out of the theater.

            It was getting colder, and Shion huddled into his jacket. “The lost prince,” he shivered, a few minutes after they’d started walking.

            “Mm,” Nezumi hummed.

            “I didn’t think the play would actually include the massacre, the fire itself. And afterward, when the lost prince was found by the people. I really liked that part.”

            “Glad you did.”

            “Nezumi,” Shion said, looking up at his friend, who was still looking down at the rose.

            “Yeah,” Nezumi breathed. He must have been tired. Again, Shion found his features unnaturally soft, soft enough that Shion wanted to reach out, touch his friend’s cheek, see if Nezumi would melt beneath his fingers.

            “I’ll never forget this performance. I doubt anyone in the kingdom will. You really were unforgettable tonight.”

            Nezumi looked over at him, and Shion searched for the smirk he had been expecting, waited for Nezumi to laugh the compliment off, or more likely, tease Shion for such unrestrained flattery.

            But Nezumi didn’t laugh, did not tease, and his smirk was missing from soft lips. “The bakery, Shion,” he said, and Shion stopped walking along with Nezumi, saw that they were already at his house.

            “Stay here tonight. You must be so tired.”

            “The walk to my place isn’t far. I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Majesty.”

            “For the festival,” Shion reminded, though what he wanted to ask was why Nezumi wouldn’t stay, sleep over, he looked so tired. Shion worried the man would collapse on his way home and wasn’t used to worrying about such things when it came to Nezumi, hadn’t worried about this man since the first time they’d met.

            “Of course,” Nezumi said, twirling the rose once more, and Shion nodded, was about to turn away, then remembered Karan’s hug that he was meant to deliver.

            He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around his best friend, squeezed the man’s body, and he was warm suddenly, immediately.

            “From my mom,” Shion said, along the skin of Nezumi’s neck, as Nezumi had stiffened, clearly alarmed.

            He felt Nezumi relax underneath him, and then Nezumi’s arms, slowly, rising and falling along his waist.

            “She said to tell you how beautiful you are,” Shion whispered, not wanting to let go.

            Nezumi was so warm, so incredibly warm, and Shion was positive he could fall asleep again, standing here, Nezumi holding him up.

            He felt the small shift of Nezumi’s arms, around his back, rising slowly, squeezing him just once, hardly a pulse, and then the warmth was sliding off, and Nezumi was pulling away, so Shion had no choice but to let him.

            The warmth of Nezumi’s body lingered, but not nearly as potent, not hardly enough.

            “Tell Karan thank you,” Nezumi said, and Shion nodded, and then Nezumi turned and walked away.

            Shion watched him as far as he could, unable to shake his worry that the man was much too tired to make it home, should just have stayed, should just have slept beside Shion, where he’d be safe.

*

When Shion woke, he thought, for a moment, that he was still dreaming.

            He could think of no other rationale, so early in the morning, for Nezumi’s voice.

            “You really do sleep late. That’s a sign of laziness. Very unbecoming.”

            Shion blinked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, then focused on the source of the voice, who was sitting at his desk.

            “What time is it?” Shion asked, voice thick from sleep.

            “Ten thirty.”

            “What are you doing here?” Shion rubbed the back of his hand over his lips, hoping there was no crusted drool.

            “Escaping,” Nezumi replied, sounding distracted, and Shion watched blankly as Nezumi rummaged in his desk.

            “Escaping what?” Shion pressed.

            “Don’t you have a diary? You seem like the type to keep a diary,” Nezumi murmured, throwing Shion’s carefully stacked textbooks to the floor, and Shion thought of Nezumi’s place, the small space of which was littered in books and hardly walkable.

            “I don’t have a diary,” Shion replied. “And I tell you everything anyway.”

            “Nobody tells anyone everything,” Nezumi said, still not stopping his search.

            “I do.”

            Nezumi finally stopped searching, glancing back at Shion.

            “Your hair is a mess,” he pointed out.

            “What are you escaping from?”

            “The people,” Nezumi commented, waving his hand noncommittally.

            “What people?”

            “What people do you think? The people in the kingdom, Shion. You’re stupid in the morning, did you know that?” Nezumi asked mildly.

            “What? The crowds for the festival tonight? Since when were you scared of crowds?” Shion asked.

            “Did I say I was scared? And the crowd is a bit more targeted today.”

            “What are you talking about?” Shion demanded, throwing his blanket from his legs and standing up, hoping a new position might grant him greater understanding.

            Nezumi exhaled loudly. “This is the problem with sleeping so late, isn’t it? You miss all the latest gossip.”

            “What gossip?”

            “Go brush your teeth, I can smell your breath from here,” Nezumi complained, and Shion wanted to argue, but he did have to pee, so he gave Nezumi a stern look before leaving his room.

            He washed up quickly in the bathroom, and was surprised, on returning to his room, to find Nezumi still there, unmoved from Shion’s desk.

            “What gossip?” Shion asked, at his doorway, and Nezumi looked up from one of Shion’s textbooks.

            “Just silly rumors.”

            “About you?” Shion asked, bewildered.

            “Are you jealous that I’m so popular?” Nezumi asked, grinning.

            “What are people saying about you?” Shion tried to think of something anyone could say about Nezumi, but mostly, Nezumi kept to himself. Worked at the theater, but otherwise, didn’t really interact with anyone else in the kingdom but Shion and Karan.

            “Ridiculous things.”

            “What, Nezumi!” Shion shouted, and Nezumi’s grin slipped for just a moment before he hitched it back up.

            He stood from Shion’s desk, stretched, and shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “It was even in the newspaper this morning. The lost prince has been found,” Nezumi commented, airily, in mock admiration, and Shion squinted, unsure what this news had to do with Nezumi.

            “The lost prince?” he asked, slowly.

            “Me, Shion. They think I’m the lost prince. Acting, apparently, is a foreign concept to the idiots in this kingdom,” Nezumi muttered, turning away from Shion to walk to his window, which he glanced out of, fingers cracking the blinds.

            “You’re the lost prince?” Shion echoed, blankly, trying to wrap his head around what his friend was saying.

            “Clearly not.”

            “Then why – ”

            “Because people are stupid, Shion,” Nezumi sighed. “A few people must have believed my act on the stage a bit too foolhardily, spread the word to their friends, and now the kingdom has completely convinced itself that I’m their lost prince, finally discovered after fifteen long years, conveniently right on festival day itself. Do you really expect me to understand the rationale of such idiots?” Nezumi snapped, turning from the window, glaring at Shion, who stared back.

            Nezumi? The lost prince? It was silly, just as ridiculous as Nezumi was saying.

            But at the same time…

            Shion couldn’t shake Nezumi’s performance the night before, how incredible it was, how real – too real. And of course, trained in slits on Shion now, were the silver eyes that the Silver Royals had been known for, named for.

            Could it be a coincidence?

            Just a coincidence, that Nezumi could not remember his past? That he was the same age as the lost prince, that Shion had found him, homeless and without a family or any ties to his past just ten months after the Silver Royals were killed and the lost prince himself had disappeared?

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nezumi mumbled, shaking Shion from his thoughts.

            “What?” Shion asked, dazedly.

            “You’re seriously considering this bullshit?”

            Shion thought of denying it, but what was the point? “It adds up, Nezumi,” he said slowly, warily.

            “Are you joking?”

            “You don’t even know your past! Why is this so impossible to you? More importantly, why have we never considered it? You were lost, you have the same color eyes – ”

            “You have the same color eyes as an albino rabbit. You think your dad is a fucking bunny?” Nezumi snapped.

            “Nezumi, you have to admit – ”

            Nezumi stepped forward. “Why can’t you be the lost prince? Huh?”

            Shion shook his head, disoriented by the question. “I remember my past, Nezumi. I would know. And I have a mother – ”

            “While I have no one. Why not claim the dead royals as my family, right? You’d be happy, wouldn’t you, you’re always asking me about my past, you’d be so fucking thrilled if I finally had one so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty that I had no one while you grew up in your mother’s arms, right?”

            “That’s not what I said,” Shion said, wrapping his arms around himself, stepping back from Nezumi, who looked livid, a stranger with the cold mask Nezumi donned for other people – but not for Shion, never for Shion.

            “You could never stand that I had no family. Always trying to fill the gap of my childhood, to take care of me, to pity me, and it’d make you feel so much better, wouldn’t it, to think I had a cushy childhood, that I wasn’t always someone tragic, that I was loved, cared for, brought up in a nice home – that’d make you sleep better at night, wouldn’t it?” Nezumi hissed, voice rising as he spoke.

            “So what if it did!” Shion shouted back, angry at Nezumi’s anger. “What’s wrong with wishing for you to have been happy? What’s wrong with wanting you to have been loved?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi laughed once, hard, not the laugh Shion knew. “Do you really think it’d make a difference? Do you really think it’d change anything, if I was a fucking lost prince?”

            “Why does anything have to change?” Shion asked, still shouting, upset but not entirely sure why, angry but not truly certain he should be.

            “If I was the lost prince, everything would change! Don’t be naïve, Shion, I’d be worshipped, have money thrown at my feet – ”

            “What’s wrong with that?”

            “Even you would turn into some simpering person. Even you would be suddenly convinced that I was more than I am, that I was someone great, amazing, just because I’ve got the stamp of royalty freshly branded on my forehead.”

            Shion exhaled, stepped forward, and Nezumi stepped back, eyes narrowing.

            “I already think you’re someone great. I already know you’re someone amazing,” Shion said, and Nezumi stared at him, then looked down, and Shion could see the clench of his jaw, the tick of his skin.

            “I’m not the lost prince. I haven’t been waiting to be found. I don’t need to be worshipped. I don’t need the love of these people.”

            Shion didn’t understand the emptiness of Nezumi’s voice. Did not know why Nezumi was so angry – but no, that wasn’t right, he was sad more than anything, wasn’t he?

            The thought gutted Shion. He stepped forward again, just once, a small step, wishing to reach out to his friend but not daring.

            “There’s nothing wrong with being loved, Nezumi,” Shion said, softly, and Nezumi looked up from Shion’s floor.

            His expression was blank. Eyes flat, empty. “Love means nothing, if it’s an obligation,” Nezumi said, dryly, after a moment, and Shion didn’t know what to do with these words, what Nezumi meant by them, but it didn’t matter, as he wasn’t offered a chance to respond.

            Nezumi was walking towards Shion, then sidestepping him, about to walk out Shion’s door. Shion thought to call out to him, to stop him, but he had nothing to say, and then his room was empty, and there was no one to say anything to, anyway.

*

At the first notes of the Silver Song, Shion resigned himself to the fact that Nezumi was not coming. The Kingdom Dance was the last tradition of the festival, and it was done to the Silver Song, a song written in honor of the late Silver Queen, who’d been known to have had the most beautiful singing voice ever heard.

            Shion stopped craning his neck to see over the other heads in the crowd. He’d celebrated the festival with just his mother, since Nezumi had stormed out of his room that morning and not returned. Shion had spent most of the afternoon helping his mother at her pastry booth, handing out goods to festival goers before Karan shooed him off to enjoy the festivities himself.

            Shion had mostly walked around the other booths, listened to the music and the laughter of the kingdom. Nezumi was right – everyone was convinced that the lost prince had been found. The festival was doubly bright, exceedingly lively, and it didn’t matter that the alleged lost prince himself had not shown up.

            He will, everyone said, and Shion, at first, believed them.

            But now, at the last festival event, Shion gave up hope. And just as he was about to walk away, not in the mood to watch the Kingdom Dance, he felt a hand close over his wrist and looked up, startled.

            “Nezumi,” Shion breathed, as the music swelled.

            “Dance with me, Your Majesty” Nezumi said, and Shion didn’t have a chance to protest, as the man was pulling him into the circle that the people had cleared for the dancers.

            Anyone could dance the Kingdom Dance at the festival, but Shion didn’t know how, and he was pretty sure Nezumi didn’t either, which Shion attempted to remind his friend as he was being pulled.

            “Wait – I don’t know how – We can’t just – ”

            But then Nezumi’s hand slipped from Shion’s wrist to his hand, and Shion felt himself being pulled into Nezumi’s chest, and Nezumi was placing Shion’s hand on his shoulder, putting his own hand on Shion’s back.

            “Just follow my lead,” Nezumi murmured, and Shion had no choice. He stepped along with Nezumi, blindly, squeezed Nezumi’s hand and shoulder tightly, certain he would trip over his own feet, certain he would fall but for this man holding him up.

            When Shion was able to relax enough to look over Nezumi’s shoulder, he noted that their steps seemed to be matching the steps of the other dancers in their circle, and Shion realized – Nezumi did know the steps.

            “Wait – You know the Kingdom Dance?” he asked, but instead of receiving an answer, he was being flung out by Nezumi’s hand, tight around his sweating fingers, and Shion felt himself spinning. As he spun, he watched as the leads of every other couple in the circle spun their partner in time with him, and then Shion found himself back against Nezumi’s chest, this time closer, this time, heart racing.

            “Of course I know the Kingdom Dance,” Nezumi replied quietly, and when Shion looked up at him, it was to see his friend’s face just inches from his own.

            Shion smiled, closed his eyes, listened only to the music and the feeling of Nezumi’s hands in his hand and curling around his waist to the small of his back. The pressures of warmth pulsed with Nezumi’s steps, and Shion realized he had never felt so safe, never felt so full, never felt so calm.

            But on looking back up at Nezumi’s profile, Shion remembered their argument that morning, felt a tightening in his chest, a blemish in his warmth.

            “Nezumi…About the lost prince rumors – ” Shion cut himself off. At his words, Nezumi had begun singing along to the words of the Silver Song, and though Shion had heard the man sing before, knew how incredible his voice was, there was something about this song that seemed meant for him.

            Shion closed his eyes. Ignored the feeling that something was wrong between him and Nezumi and just let himself feel right, never more right in his life than to let this man dance with him, sing so close to his ear like the words were meant just for Shion to hear.

*

Shion had helped Nezumi escape the crowd that had converged on them at the last step of the dance, vying for a chance to see their lost prince, and the two men were breathless, falling through the doorway of Shion’s room, having run through several back-alleys in order to shake the crowds and double back.

            “Wow,” Shion breathed, collapsing on his bed, then sitting up, wiping the sweat from his forehead and staring up at Nezumi.

            His friend leaned against the doorway, his ponytail loose from their running, his bangs wet against his forehead from sweat. He ran his fingers through them, pushing them off his forehead until they fell right back.

            “Shit. This is annoying.”

            “You’re going to have to face these people at some point.”

            “I don’t see why,” Nezumi replied, shrugging, looking at him oddly again.

            Shion did not say that more and more throughout the night, he had been cementing his own to belief that Nezumi was indeed the lost prince as the rest of the kingdom claimed.

            He did not say anything, because Nezumi was walking forward, standing in front of him, touching his fingers to Shion’s cheek, then tipping up Shion’s chin, leaning closer –

            Shion only realized after Nezumi had leaned away again that his friend had kissed him. The warmth on his lips was like an echo, the feeling of Nezumi’s exhale against his upper lip like a scar.

            Shion blinked at the man who was just looking at him now, no longer kissing him, though he’d left his fingers on the underside of Shion’s chin, and Shion wondered if he’d forgotten they were there.

            “What was that for?” Shion managed to ask, because his friend had always ruffled his hair, had always leaned on his shoulder, had always touched the scar on his cheek and neck, but Nezumi had never kissed him, never pressed his lips so lightly, so briefly, so softly like that.

            “Just a goodnight kiss,” Nezumi said, like it was nothing – and it must have been nothing, as otherwise it would be something, and how could it be something?

            Nezumi was his friend, the boy Shion had found in the rain fourteen years ago, stealing an apple from the grocer that rolled out his pocket, fell by Shion’s feet, and Shion hadn’t hesitated to pick it up and offer it back to this stranger whose eyes were brighter than the lightning flashing across the sky…

            _“You shouldn’t steal,” Shion said, knowing he had no time to be talking to strangers, he had to get home to his mother, it was storming out and she would surely be worried that he wasn’t home yet._

_The kid who snatched the apple out of his hand looked to be the same age as him, but Shion didn’t recognize the child from school._

_He could not even tell if the stranger was a boy or a girl. A girl, it appeared, from the long hair and the small frame and the delicate features._

_“You shouldn’t talk to strangers,” the stranger countered, voice hard and low – a boy, Shion concluded, surprised._

_“It’s storming outside,” Shion replied. Even in the rain, he could see the child’s clothes were dirty, torn. Cheekbones stuck out of the stranger’s skin too far, as did collarbones from the kid’s shirt._

_The boy looked lost._

_“Go inside then,” the boy said, bright eyes in slits, and Shion wondered what he could have done to this stranger to warrant such anger._

_“Come with me,” Shion offered, and at this, the stranger blinked, revealing the softness of surprise that widened his stormy eyes for just a moment before they were slits again, and the boy was stepping back._

_The stranger raised his hand to wipe his plastered hair from his nearly translucent skin, and as he did, he winced, a small movement, but one Shion caught all the same._

_“You’re hurt.”_

_“No, I’m not.”_

_“I can take care of you. I know basic medical procedures.”_

_The boy narrowed his eyes even further, hiding the silver of them. Thunder crashed around them. But Shion could no longer feel the chill of the rain on his soaked skin. Could no longer feel the rain at all._

_“Let me help you,” he said, and the boy frowned, or maybe it was another wince, Shion couldn’t tell through the thick sheen of rain._

_“I don’t need your help.”_

_Shion smiled, liking the stubbornness of this stranger._

_Shion didn’t believe the boy, of course. But he didn’t mind so much, being lied to. He had a feeling the boy was lying to himself as well, not just Shion._

_“That’s okay. Let me help you just to practice my procedures, then. It’s not as accurate, practicing only on myself,” he said, happily, and the stranger blinked at him like Shion was something strange, something unfamiliar._

_Shion wondered what it might feel like, to be looked at by this boy as someone known, as someone trusted, someone more…_

            “Just a goodnight kiss,” Shion echoed, staring at his best friend of fourteen years, and this time, when Nezumi leaned closer to him, Shion knew what was happening before it happened.

            This time, it wasn’t brief, it wasn’t soft, it was building, at first just the lightest pressure that Nezumi did not remove. Shion felt the warmth from Nezumi’s lips slip down his throat, curl down into his stomach where it spread, grew, multiplied like the cells Shion studied in school.

            When Nezumi’s lips still did not move, Shion thought of the deepest parts of the sea, where there was only darkness, where life should not have been possible. He thought of the brightest stars in the sky, how they were made of light that had taken so long to travel it no longer existed, and yet people still pointed up at them, shaped them into wishes and myths. He thought of the human heart, small as a fist and pumping thousands of gallons of blood a day over tens of thousands of miles of blood vessels.

            When Nezumi continued to kiss him, Shion thought of everything that should have been impossible, everything that amazed him, and then Nezumi’s lips were opening, and so were Shion’s, and Shion could not think much more about anything other than this man who was his best friend, who was kissing him, whose mouth was so incredibly warm and wet and unexpected.

            There was Nezumi’s hand, drifting along Shion’s jawline, finding the curve of his neck. There was Nezumi’s other hand, on Shion’s knee, slipping up, up, and Shion’s breath hitched as warm fingers fell along his waist, under his jacket and shirt.

            There was pressure, and then there was Shion on his back, there was Nezumi over him, knees on the bed on either side of Shion’s hips, Shion’s legs still hanging over the edge.

            Shion didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why Nezumi was taking off his jacket. Didn’t understand why Nezumi’s hand was lifting up his shirt, skating over the skin of his chest, stomach. He didn’t understand why Nezumi was kissing him like that, deeper than the deepest parts of the sea where there shouldn’t have been life.

            Shion didn’t understand why his best friend was biting his lip, didn’t understand why his own breaths were too quick, didn’t understand why his heart felt too big for his chest when it was just the size of a fist, should have a fit easily in the cage of his shaking ribs.

            He didn’t understand when Nezumi’s eyes found his, the color of the brightest stars of the sky that didn’t even exist anymore, didn’t understand the heaviness of these eyes, these quiet eyes, didn’t understand the way they looked at him, didn’t understand why they looked away too quickly, down to Shion’s lips, didn’t understand why Nezumi was kissing those lips again.

            Impossible, impossible, impossible.

            “Nezumi,” Shion breathed, when he had the chance, when his lips were freed again but only because Nezumi’s lips were on his neck, no, his collarbones, no, his chest, his stomach, his hips.

            Shion didn’t understand what was happening, why it was happening, how it was happening, and he thought maybe he should ask, always liked to have answers to his questions and was desperate for them now.

            Nezumi sat up, over Shion’s thighs, and shed his own jacket, pulled off his own t-shirt, and Shion stared up at him, not understanding.

            “What are you doing?” Shion whispered, not knowing why he was whispering, not knowing if they should keep this a secret – but what was _this_ anyway?

            “I know you’re naïve, but surely you know what foreplay is, Your Majesty,” Nezumi teased, and then he was getting up, off of Shion, who didn’t know why he felt so cold so quickly without his friend’s body over his own. “Move up the bed, you’re half off,” Nezumi murmured, and Shion did as he was told because he didn’t know what else to do.

            He didn’t know, he didn’t know.

            Nezumi followed him. Crawled over him. Leant down, and Shion couldn’t say anything else because Nezumi was kissing him again, and Shion kissed back because it felt good – it was Nezumi, it was his best friend, but he was so warm, and Shion loved the way the warmth pooled from his lips into his body, like magic.

            Nezumi’s hands in his hair. On his hips. Over his jeans. Undoing his button, unzipping his jeans, and Shion closed his eyes, breathed as deeply as he could, thought maybe he should stop the man but couldn’t really think of a good reason why.

            Perhaps because he couldn’t really think at all.

            “Shion, have you got – ?” Nezumi asked, distractedly, having pulled off Shion’s jeans and discarded them but instead of shifting his fingers over Shion’s last remaining article of clothing, he was moving away, and Shion watched him, bleary, feeling drunk.

            Was he drunk? He and Nezumi had gotten drunk before. He’d felt just as heavy as he did now. Just as unfocused.

            But he didn’t think he’d drank anything. All he’d done was dance with Nezumi, who’d spun him over and over, maybe that was it, maybe he was still just dizzy, that’s all.

            Nezumi was rummaging in Shion’s nightstand, and Shion thought to ask what Nezumi was looking for, but he was distracted by the scars on Nezumi’s bare back.

            He’d never seen them before. There was no way Nezumi had gotten them since Shion had known the man – Shion would have noticed, surely, such an injury like this. They must have been old, healed before Shion had met him, and Shion identified them as burns, knew what burns looked like from his textbooks, from his classes at school.

            There was a vague thought, that some famous family he knew had died in a massacre that involved fire, but Shion couldn’t think straight, couldn’t remember, and then Nezumi was back over him, speaking again.

            “I was worried you wouldn’t have any. That wouldn’t have been too fun,” Nezumi said, holding up a small tube and a shiny square packet.

            Shion knew what these were for. Had never used them, but had bought them, just in case.

            In case of this? Of Nezumi on top of him, peeling off his own jeans?

            No, Shion had not expected this, could never have expected this.

            Shion looked away from the man on top of him. Glanced at the clock on his nightstand, saw that it was near midnight. He’d read that in dreams, clocks didn’t work, because time had no meaning to the subconscious.

            He watched the second hand of his clock wind around steadily. Figured this was proof enough that he wasn’t dreaming because sometimes – oftentimes – he did dream of this, of Nezumi’s fingers skimming the skin of his thigh, of Nezumi tucking his hair behind his ears, putting the square packet to his lips, ripping the wrapper open with his teeth.

            But those were just dreams, and dreams meant nothing, Shion never took them seriously – how could he?

            Nezumi was Nezumi. Just Nezumi.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said, then again, “Nezumi,” just in case the man hadn’t heard the first time – maybe his heart, too, was pounding too loudly in his ears.

            The fingers on his thigh stopped moving.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said, and then the man was looking at him, and Shion was forced to focus on the eyes right over his, on the serious expression of the man he trusted more than anything, knew better than anyone.

            “Nezumi,” Shion breathed, one more time, just one more time, because nothing had ever comforted him like saying this man’s name and knowing he’d get a response.

            “Listen to me. If you want to stop, we’ll stop. Shion – Do you want to stop?” Nezumi asked, and Shion made himself listen, focus on each word.

            Stop?

            Shion didn’t understand much, with Nezumi touching his skin. Could hardly think, with Nezumi kissing his lips.

            But when Nezumi asked Shion if he wanted to stop, Shion felt his confusion clear, because maybe what was happening didn’t make sense, but what Shion wanted did, what Shion wanted was obvious.

            “I don’t want to stop,” Shion said, and he meant it, didn’t know why his best friend was kissing him, didn’t know how it had happened, but he knew he wanted it, more than an explanation, more than an answer, he wanted to be confused, he wanted to feel this dizziness.

            Nezumi smiled, then, just a small smile, and Shion was so amazed that he’d get to feel it, branded against his skin. “Okay, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, and he did not stop.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Shion woke, warm and still tired, and curled himself in his blanket, wincing at the movement.

            He opened his eyes, surprised at the pain only for the smallest moment before he remembered the night before, and his breath caught in his throat.

            He was no longer tired, but wide awake, and rolled – carefully – onto his back, turning his head to the other side of the bed, where Nezumi sat up, fully dressed, against the headboard.

            He was looking at Shion, who felt his face darken, not so much in embarrassment but a mixture of things he wasn’t even fully sure of himself, only knowing they overwhelmed him, only knowing he couldn’t manage to speak, and so it was a good thing that Nezumi finally broke the silence.

            “How do you feel?” Nezumi asked.

            “We had sex,” Shion replied, blurted out rather, louder than he’d intended.

            The smallest crease appeared between Nezumi’s eyes. “Yes. That’s why I’m asking you how you feel.”

            Shion thought about it for a moment. The soreness faded when he wasn’t moving. “Okay,” he settled on.

            “That’s good.”

            “Nezumi, we had sex.”

            “You already said that,” Nezumi replied, lifting his arms up to pull his hair into a ponytail.

            “But – Why aren’t you reacting?”

            “How should I react, Your Majesty?” Nezumi sighed, and Shion sat up, too quickly, wincing.

            “Ah,” he exhaled.

            “Don’t move so quickly,” Nezumi chastised, though his voice was soft.

            Shion realized he was still naked. He pulled the sheet closer to his body, and the crease between Nezumi’s eyes deepened, though the rest of his expression stayed blank.

            “You have to feel something about the fact that we had sex,” Shion insisted, and Nezumi tilted his head against the wall.

            “What do you feel, then?” he asked, sounding tired.

            Shion thought, tried to gauge his own emotions. “Confused,” he offered, the easiest to identify. “And…worried, I think.”

            “Why? You think you’re pregnant?” Nezumi asked, lip curving up, but it wasn’t the smirk Shion was used to, seemed fake, disposable.

            “Nezumi.”

            “Mm?” Nezumi asked, not looking at Shion, and Shion gritted his teeth.

            Angry. He also felt angry. “So what? You’re going to pretend nothing happened?”

            Nezumi glanced at him, just a slip of his eyes. “Not at all. By all means, keep analyzing.”

            “Why are you acting like this?” Shion demanded. “Do you regret it? Is that it?”

            “No, I don’t. Do you?” Nezumi asked, this time his head turning a bit, looking at Shion more fully, but Shion didn’t bother to answer his question.

            “So why are you – Why are you being so – ?”

            Nezumi just looked at him for a moment, then exhaled deeply. “So what, Shion? It was just sex. People have sex, it’s not as rare as you seem to think.”

            “Don’t patronize me! People have sex, Nezumi, but we don’t. Is this – Is this something you’ve wanted? Why didn’t you talk to me? I’m just trying to understand,” Shion said, and he realized his fingers were shaking.

            He wrapped them tightly around the blanket. Breathed in deeply, out deeply.

            “Of course I want sex. An evolutionary impulse, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you know that, with all your textbooks?”

            “You didn’t have sex with me for reproduction, Nezumi,” Shion hissed.

            “Oh? Then why did I have sex with you? I must have forgotten in the heat of the moment that you didn’t have a uterus. My apologies, Your Majesty.”

            Shion sagged, pulled his knees to his chest, ignored the pain of the movement, squeezed his legs to his body. “Why are you doing this? Is this a joke to you? Is our friendship a joke to you?” he asked, quietly.

            “Sex has nothing to do with our friendship,” Nezumi replied, voice hard now.

            “How can it not?” Shion asked – pleaded, almost, wanted an answer from Nezumi, wanted to know how they could be the same after this.

            “Sex is physical. Friendship is emotional. Why the hell should that change? It was just something fun, Shion, a little festivity for festival day, stop thinking so much,” Nezumi sighed, looking away from Shion, getting off the bed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

            Shion watched his friend walk to the window, lean against the wall, shift the blinds and look out of them, the morning light streaking his cheeks and hair.

            “So it meant nothing to you,” Shion asked, watching Nezumi’s face, the small flinch of his jaw.

            “Do you want it to, Shion?” Nezumi asked, almost too quietly, still looking out the window.

            Shion stared at his friend. Tried to label what else he was feeling, under the confusion, the worry, the anger – because there was something else, buried deep, but Shion couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t tell this man how he truly felt because he didn’t know himself.

            “I want you to be honest with me,” Shion said, but maybe he was lying.

            Maybe he wanted the truth, but maybe he wanted something different. Maybe he just wanted whatever words would make him feel okay, make him feel certain that his friend was not drifting away from him, was not putting up the barrier that he placed between himself and everyone else – but not Shion, never Shion.

            Shion could see when Nezumi swallowed. Could see when Nezumi inhaled, the rise of his chest, and exhaled, the fall of it, and then Nezumi turned, and Shion could see nothing but the flat of his eyes, the mask over them.

            “It meant nothing to me,” Nezumi said, blankly, and Shion felt the shock of the words like a current through his body, an electric pulse, a bolt of heat.

            He nodded. Maybe this was the answer he wanted. What did he know? He didn’t even know how he felt. He didn’t even know what to think.

            “I have a rehearsal. Do you want me to miss it?” Nezumi asked, looking out the window again.

            “Why would I want you to miss it?”

            “I don’t know, Shion,” Nezumi sighed again.

            “You should go. It’s your job.”

            Nezumi’s fingers dropped from the blinds. He ran a hand over his eyes, then turned and began walking out of Shion’s room, stopping by Shion’s side of the bed to stoop and grab his jacket from off the floor.

            He glanced at Shion, and Shion looked back, leaned forward, wanting to understand what his friend was doing to them, why Nezumi was changing the comfort between them, why he was ruining the calm Shion had always felt since that first day in the storm.

            “You should take it easy today. Wait till the soreness fades before you overexert yourself,” Nezumi said, and Shion didn’t know what he was talking about at first, had forgotten that he’d felt any pain at all.

            On remembering, he nodded, but by then, Nezumi was already gone.

*

When Karan caught him wincing while he’d tried to take down the festival decorations, she’d ordered him to go back inside and sit in the kitchen where he could ice cupcakes without any overexertion.

            “I’m really okay,” Shion had insisted, completely embarrassed, but Karan hadn’t wanted to hear a word of it, so Shion found himself icing tray after tray of cupcakes, liking the monotony of it, the simple routine.

            Karan appeared around what must have been the one hundredth cupcake or so.

            “How’s it going, honey?” she asked, in the doorway of the kitchen.

            “Good. Are there more trays after these last two?”

            “Nope, that’s it. Do you want to talk?”

            Shion messed up an icing swirl, squeezing the bag too hard and forcing a glob of icing out.

            “Talk about what?” he asked, looking up at his mother, who offered a small smile and walked over, sitting on the stool across from him.

            “Nezumi.”

            “What about Nezumi?” Shion asked, his voice hitching, wondering, suddenly, how loud they’d been last night, what exactly Karan knew about the mild soreness Shion still felt when he moved too suddenly.

            His hand started sweating, and he put down the icing bag, wiping his palms on his pants.

            “The announcement, of course.”

            Shion squinted, distracted. “What announcement?” he asked, for a second thinking Nezumi had announced that they had sex – but who would he announce such a thing to?

            “Nezumi spoke to a reporter this morning, honey, it was in the news. He’ll be accepting his identity as the Silver Prince. There was an announcement from our neighboring kingdom. Their king has offered their princess’s hand in marriage for the lost prince. It was an arrangement that had been made at the princess’s birth, but of course, was broken when the Silver Prince disappeared. She’s still eligible to be married, as is Nezumi, obviously, so the offer was remade,” Karan explained slowly, producing a newspaper for Shion, and sure enough, the afternoon printing was covered in Nezumi’s picture, a black and white image that Shion recognized from Nezumi’s playbooks at the theater.

            “But – Nezumi is getting married?” Shion asked, completely bewildered, wondering how he hadn’t heard a word of his, then remembering that he’d been inside the kitchen all day, save for the hours spent sitting in his room, trying and failing to wrap his head around the events of the past night and that morning.

            “It’s just an offer. Nezumi hasn’t accepted yet, from what I know. I’ve only read the newspaper, I haven’t talked to Nezumi himself. I haven’t seen him all day, actually, didn’t he spend the night? He must have slipped out without saying goodbye. That isn’t like him.”

            “But Nezumi isn’t the lost prince,” Shion objected, refusing to be side-tracked, staring at the headline of the newspaper that contradicted his statement in bold print.

            “Of course he is,” Karan said, sounding surprised.

            “What? No, he’s not. That’s just a rumor.”

            Karan smiled at Shion, softly, resting her hand on his wrist. “Honey, Nezumi was the son of the Silver Queen and the Silver King. He is the Silver Prince of our kingdom.”

            “Just because everyone else is saying it doesn’t mean – ”

            “I knew who Nezumi was since the day I caught the boy sneaking around my kitchen, that morning after you invited him in from the storm,” Karan said, gently.

            “What?”

            “I don’t know if Nezumi knew it himself. Traumas like that which he suffered are often blocked from the memory, especially when it is a child. But when Nezumi stretched out to try and grab the scones off the counter, the sweater you let him borrow rose, and I could see the burns on his back. I have always known Nezumi was the lost prince, honey,” Karan said, almost apologetically.

            “But – Why didn’t you tell me?” Shion spluttered, hardly able to absorb the words his mother was saying to him.

            “It was never my truth to tell. The boy Nezumi was never mattered to him, and shouldn’t matter to you. It is the man Nezumi is now, that matters, Shion.”

            Shion blinked, looked around the kitchen, trying to find something that made sense, returning his gaze to his mother. “But he’s saying he’s the prince now, isn’t he? So – So – So what does that mean? Does he know? Or is he just saying it?”

            Karan’s gaze was careful on Shion. “I was certain he would have told you, Shion. I don’t know what Nezumi is thinking. Maybe he has realized the truth, after the commotion during the past few days – don’t you think that must be hard for him?”

            “But if he was the lost prince, that would mean he had a happy childhood. A family that loved him.”

            “And a family that is gone. Whatever hope Nezumi may have had is now taken from him. And Nezumi, I believe, is not a man who likes having identities placed upon him. He has always preferred to work in order to become who he is. Being a prince changes that. He will have duties to this kingdom now. His freedom to be who he wants, what he wants, is limited. That is the price of royalty, and I think Nezumi knows that well,” Karan said, and Shion, for a moment, wondered how his mother knew Nezumi so well – but then, of course she would. She had practically raised him herself – she was his family, and so was Shion.

            “Then why would he agree with everyone? Make this announcement in the paper?” Shion asked, picking up the newspaper again, examining Nezumi’s photograph.

            He’d never paid much attention to it, never having to, as he had the real Nezumi to look at whenever he pleased.

            But now Shion saw the emptiness of Nezumi’s expression in the photograph. The man stared blankly at the camera, and Shion thought of the appeal of this, for a headshot, the blank slate on which any director could paint any character.

            The ideal actor, Nezumi always was. So good that Shion wondered if he was getting caught up in an act as well, but he couldn’t figure out what the act could be, why Nezumi would ever put on a mask around him.

            “I don’t know, honey. If anyone knows what Nezumi is thinking, it is you,” Karan said, and Shion swallowed, looked away from his mother, down at the cupcakes he’d been icing.

            He wished he still had as much certainty as his mother. Couldn’t bring himself to correct her, inform her that he had no idea, for the last few days he’d been confused as to what his best friend was thinking, wondering if he’d ever really known since the very first day they’d met.

*

When Karan left, Shion finished icing the cupcakes. Perfect swirls on every one, over and over, concentrating harder on these swirls than he had on anything in his life.

            He bargained with himself – by the time he finished, Nezumi would come back to talk to him, to tell him what was going on.

            To give Nezumi more time, Shion took as long as he could. Worked as carefully as he was able.

            By the time there were three cupcakes left, Shion was spending five minutes per cupcake. On the second-to-last, he spent ten. On the last, he spent seventeen, couldn’t stretch it out longer than that, but when he looked up at the kitchen doorway, Nezumi was still missing.

            Shion cleaned up just as slowly. Washed his hands until his fingertips had pruned. Turned off the faucet, hung up his apron, put away the rest of the supplies and stood very still, but Nezumi still did not appear.

            Making up his mind was simple. Shion was out the bakery door before he even thought about leaving. The need to be near Nezumi was natural. Looking for him was the only option Shion could think of.

            He checked the theater first, but Nezumi only had one show today after his rehearsal, and it had ended hours ago.

            The library was next, and Shion walked slowly through the shelves, knowing before he entered that Nezumi would not be there.

            Wherever he was, there would be a flock of people. A crowd trying to get to him, and there was no crowd outside the library.

            Yet still, Shion checked every shelf, looked behind every stack of books before leaving, walking next to the park where he and Nezumi used to play when they were much younger.

            He watched the children playing, for a moment, listened vaguely to a conversation behind him – it was about the lost prince, how lucky the kingdom was, that he was so beautiful, so gracious, so talented, so kind.

            Shion left the playground, was about to check Nezumi’s home – a small apartment on the end of the kingdom grounds – then had a better idea, walked towards the castle itself instead.

            As a child, Shion had loved visiting the castle of the Silver Royals with his mother. The Silver Royals had kept an open door at all times; only their top floor was closed off to the public, as that was where the royals lived.

            Shion would walk slowly around each of the rooms, taking in each gold-threaded curtain, each intricate vase, each family portrait.

            What he wanted most was for the royal family themselves to walk down their spiral staircase, what he wanted most was to meet one of these incredible people whom he had loved since he was born – because that was the way of the kingdom. Their Silver Family was beloved, and it was never a question, never a thought. The family was kind, generous, ruled the kingdom to the wishes of the people.

            After the fire, of course, the castle was closed. But around the time Shion met Nezumi, it was reopened. Every year, another few rooms were rebuilt, renovated, in honor of the Silver Family. No one could live in the castle – and although there had been talk, over the years, of finding a new royal family, hope still held out for the lost prince to take his rightful throne.

            Shion only visited a few times after the reopening. He always wanted Nezumi to come with him, but his friend had refused, said he had no use walking around the house of a bunch of dead people, said it was disrespectful, while Shion argued, said the Silver Royals had always wanted there to be life within their walls.

            Today, there was a crowd around the castle. Shion walked forward, allowed himself to be swallowed into this crowd, made his way through it until he was in the front. There were two guards standing in front of the castle doors.

            A baby gurgled happily, and Shion glanced next to him at the woman who held her child to her chest, cooing to it.

            “Ma’am, excuse me?” Shion asked, and the woman looked at him, smiled brightly.

            “Yes?”

            “Is Nezu – Is the lost prince in there?”

            “Why, he’s not lost anymore, is he? But the Silver Prince, yes, he is in his castle. Isn’t it so lovely? To have found him? Our prince, I remember him as a child, such a quiet boy, a respectful child, I always knew he’d make a great leader, I always knew he’d come back to his kingdom,” the lady said, and Shion nodded.

            “Is he – Do you know if he’s coming out?” Shion asked.

            “Oh, yes, the guards say our Silver Prince will be making an announcement soon.”

            The baby giggled, as though thrilled by the idea, and Shion glanced at it again, wondering if the woman would try to have Nezumi kiss her baby.

            Shion could not imagine Nezumi kissing a stranger’s baby. But wasn’t that just one of the many formalities of being royalty?

            Shion watched the guards at the door. Every once in a while a third guard would walk in front of the crowd, reminding them to stay back, to give the prince space, not to overwhelm him.

            Shion thought about waiting for Nezumi after his plays, standing back and watching the crowd around him slowly dissipate. He had never minded waiting for Nezumi. He knew that once the crowd left, Shion would have the man all to himself again, back by his side again, where Nezumi belonged.

            Now, Shion was not so sure. Now, Shion felt a part of the crowd, not separate from it, hardly different from it.

            Was he?

            He was. He had to be. He was Nezumi’s friend. He was more than these people, who just wanted to see him, to touch him, to hear him speak.

            Shion wanted more, had always wanted more from this man since the first time they’d met.

            When the guards moved from the door, the sky was a splatter of colors it shouldn’t have been. Not white like the mornings, not blue like the days, not black like the nights. It was every other color, a mix of shades, and it was beautiful, but how easy it was to look away from this beauty, to look at Nezumi instead, as he walked out of the castle doors.

            He was not dressed in his own clothes, but he was not dressed in the full uniform of the Silver Royals either. He wore black pants, a white shirt, and the king’s blue jacket over it. Shion looked at the ribbons on the shoulders, the pins on the lapels, the many strings and medals that symbolized things Shion did not know.

            He thought Nezumi looked handsome, but that was nothing new.

            He thought Nezumi looked as though he was wearing a costume for another one of his plays, was walking out, center stage, and Shion had the perfect seat from which to watch this man amaze him, again and again.

            Nezumi’s hair was half down, but a few strands from the front had been tied back in braids, clearing his face. He looked regal, and when he smiled, the crowd around Shion applauded him.

            It was his stage smile, Shion knew. Every bit as real as any other real smile – reached his eyes, creased his cheeks – but it wasn’t Nezumi’s smile, the smile Shion knew, the smaller smile that Shion had felt against his skin just the night before, the smile Nezumi hid in the crease of Shion’s neck like he was nervous, not this smile he waved at the people of the kingdom like he was sure.

            Shion waited for Nezumi to make eye contact with him, but the best actor does not make eye contact, as Nezumi had once explained to him, when Shion complained that Nezumi refused to look at him during his shows.

            When the crowd quieted, Nezumi walked forward, though he stayed on the steps, levels higher than the rest of his kingdom.

            Because that was who these people were, Shion realized. They were Nezumi’s, and so was Shion. Another faithful subject.

            “Thank you all,” Nezumi said, voice loud and calm, but he was always good at projecting, at making himself heard on stage even when he whispered. “I appreciate your support of me as I return to my old home more than I can say. I will be honored to be accepted as your prince and to be embraced by this kingdom as a Silver Royal again.”

            The crowd was deafening, and Shion looked behind Nezumi at the castle. It was too big, for one man. Too big for Nezumi, who had always hated to be alone – why else was he always reaching out to Shion, coming over again and again despite his complaints?

            Shion knew his friend, and knew his friend did not want this.

            But Shion did not know what his friend did want, and all he wanted was a chance to ask, to say Nezumi’s name and hear Nezumi’s reply.

            From the crowd came chants for the lost prince, the Silver Prince, and even chants for Eve, as Nezumi was also known to the kingdom.

            Shion listened, could hear no one else calling Nezumi’s real name, and so he did, opening his mouth, inhaling deeply, then letting his voice fall into these syllables that had always comforted him since the night they’d been offered to him in exchange for a blanket, a clean pair of clothes, and a place to sleep until the morning.

            “Nezumi!”

            The silver eyes did not seek his, and Shion felt himself sinking back into the crowd, but then his friend found him, and Shion smiled, couldn’t help it, was so relieved to be looked at by this man, to be acknowledged by this man, so comforted by such a simple thing as to be found.

            Nezumi looked at Shion for a moment, his expression unchanging, but then his lips turned up, the smallest bit, and he nodded, the smallest nod, and Shion let the pushing crowd shove him out of the way.

            He no longer needed to be at the front. He would wait at the back for the rest of the crowd to disappear, and then he would step forward, and Nezumi would be there, waiting for him as well.

*

When the crowd finally disappeared, so had Nezumi, but a guard walked up to Shion, who had taken to sitting against the trunk of a tree on the edge of the castle grounds.

            “Sir,” the guard said, and Shion looked up at him, startled, having been craning to see if Nezumi was still in front of the castle.

            “Oh, yes?” Shion asked, stumbling up quickly, wincing, which surprised him, as he’d forgotten the night before and the lingering pain that was hardly noticeable now, anyway, more unexpected than anything.

            “Will you come with me?” the guard said, and Shion nodded, let himself be escorted up the castle steps and through the doors by this guard, up the spiral staircase, past the floors Shion had already seen to the floor that had always been roped off.

            The rope hung open now, and Shion and the guard walked past it, though the guard turned back and closed it behind them.

            “His Majesty’s door is at the very end of the hall,” the guard said, and Shion was so startled to hear Nezumi referred to as “His Majesty” that for a moment, he merely stared blankly at the guard before coming to his senses and nodding jerkily.

            He walked down the hall slowly, taking in what he had never seen before. The rest of the doors were closed, and then he was at the last door, and he knocked carefully, glancing behind him to see the guard was still standing at the top of the staircase, his back to Shion, presumably for some semblance of privacy.

            The door opened, and there was Nezumi, the royal jacket off and just standing in his t-shirt and pants. One hand held the door open, and the other was in his hair, loosening the braids.

            “Hi,” Shion said, and for a bizarre moment, he considered bowing, then thought Nezumi would probably punch him.

            Nezumi stepped aside, and Shion took his cue to walk in, hearing the click of the door behind him as he looked around.

            The room was spacious. Ornate. A living area on the right side, equipped with couches and a coffee table, a four-poster bed with hangings on the left side, and stretched across the wall in front of the room, the largest window Shion had ever seen.

            “Wow.”

            “You feel okay?” Nezumi asked, and Shion glanced at him.

            “I’m really fine, Nezumi,” Shion said, wondering if the guy thought he had broken Shion.

            It wasn’t like Nezumi had even been overly rough the night before. Shion couldn’t figure out why he was so concerned about such a little thing.

            “Right,” Nezumi replied, nodding, slipping his hands in his pockets.

            “So…You’re the prince now.”

            “Always was,” Nezumi replied, shrugging, walking away from the door, past Shion, into the middle of his new room.

            He looked awfully small, surrounded by so much space. Not at all as though he belonged the way he did on the stage even when the entire stage was empty around him.

            “But you didn’t know, right?” Shion asked, unsure.

            Nezumi slipped a hand out of his pocket, rubbed the back of his neck. “This place is ridiculously big. It’s almost annoying,” Nezumi muttered, looking around the room as though he was just seeing it himself.

            “Nezumi.”

            “Hmm?”

            “Why did you tell everyone that you’re the lost prince?”

            “Because I am,” Nezumi sighed, walking to the bed.

            Shion watched him pick up the many decorative pillows, one by one, throw them back on the bed haphazardly.

            “Ridiculous,” Shion thought he heard the man murmur.

            “But you don’t want to be,” Shion pressed.

            “And you know what I want?” Nezumi asked, turning, looking at him fully, finally.

            “How can you want this? It’s an act, Nezumi! Out there, talking to those people, that wasn’t you! Why would you force yourself to put on this mask of the Silver Prince for the rest of your life?”

            “I love to act,” Nezumi said, voice lofty and fake.

            “On the stage, fine.”

            “The world is my stage,” Nezumi said, grin small and forced.

            “Why are you doing this to yourself?” Shion demanded, his shout echoing in the too big room. “When will you get to be who you are?”

            “Do you hear the bullshit you say?” Nezumi asked, tiredly.

            “This isn’t who you are!” Shion shouted.

            “You don’t think I’m the lost prince? I thought you were convinced.”

            “I don’t care if you’re the lost prince! That’s not who you really are, Nezumi, you’re not royalty, you’re not that person, standing out there, waving and smiling to a kingdom, living in this castle that you’ve always hated, that’s much too big for you!”

            “Oh? Who am I then?”

            Shion’s hands were in fists. He didn’t understand Nezumi’s calm. How could he be so calm? How could he care so little, about his own life?

            “You’re – You’re – ” Shion started, but he couldn’t think.

            _Just Nezumi_ , was all he had, the best he had, but that wouldn’t be enough.

            “A little boy stealing apples to survive. Someone damaged for you to fix up. That’s who I am, to you.”

            “That’s not – ”

            “Then who am I, if you know so much?” Nezumi asked, stepping forward, closer, in front of Shion now, staring down at him, and Shion thought about how Nezumi looked at him the night before, eyelids heavy, bright eyes cloudy in the dark of the room.

            Shion couldn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Nezumi was looking to hear, but he could tell the man was looking for something, eyes searching between Shion’s.

            Nezumi dropped his gaze. Shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Shion. What’s done is done.”

            “You’ve turned your entire life into an act,” Shion said, quietly.

            Nezumi glanced at him, laughed once, a strange sound, stiff and without a smile behind it. “It always was.”

            “No, it wasn’t.”

            “You always think you know everything – Do you know how annoying that is?” Nezumi snapped.

            “The Nezumi I knew wasn’t an act!” Shion shouted.

            “You think you knew me, Shion? You think just because you’re precious Shion, I’d never hide anything from you, I’d never put on a mask around you – ”

            “I know you didn’t!”

            Nezumi pinched the bridge of his nose. Dropped his hand and looked at Shion, not glaring, just looking, not angry, just hopeless.

            Hopeless?

            Shion felt gutted. Wanted to turn away. Wanted to walk away from this man, to leave this castle, to turn back time to when he was waking beside Nezumi the first time the man slept over in years, wondering why half his body was too cold, wondering why half his body was too hot.

            He wanted to go back to when his only confusion was temperature, something so simple as heat and the absence of it, nothing so complicated as what his friend was thinking, nothing so difficult as what was breaking between them.

            “I lied to you every day, Shion. Every single goddamn day was an act I put on for you,” Nezumi said, voice completely hollowed, barely anything there – so why did Shion hear his words, why were they so clear?

            “What are you talking about?” Shion breathed.

            “You should leave.”

            “Nezumi, what are you talking about?” Shion repeated. Felt himself shaking. Too hot and too cold, but this time it wasn’t a nice feeling, this time he wasn’t comforted by the weight pressing down on him.

            “I did this, Shion, because I wanted a change. That’s why I accepted my role as the prince,” Nezumi said, softly.

            “What did you want to change?” Shion asked, stepping forward, but now he was too close to this man, and he regretted stepping forward, wanted to step back again.

            What in their lives had not been enough? What in their lives had not been everything?

            “I couldn’t keep up this act around you anymore,” Nezumi replied, and he stepped away, put the space back between himself and Shion, and Shion should have been relieved.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Please leave, Shion.”

            “You can’t just say that and not expect me to need to know what you mean!”

            “I have guards now, Shion, I can get you kicked out.”

            “We’re friends, Nezumi. Are you telling me that was an act? You pretended to like me?”

            “You really ought to go, I don’t want to have you thrown out,” Nezumi sighed, dragged a hand over his face.

            “So what, you hated me? For fourteen years, you hated me, is that what you’re saying?” Shion demanded, knowing it wasn’t true, couldn’t be true – how could it be true?

            Nezumi dropped his hand, stepped forward again, and grabbed Shion’s arm, hard, yanking him to the door.

            “Ow, let go – !”

            Nezumi opened his door, threw Shion out, and Shion waited for the door to slam in his face, but instead Nezumi stayed in the doorframe, stared at him hard.

            “I never hated you, Shion,” he said, voice stiff, almost robotic, and then the door was slammed, but this time Shion wasn’t ready, and he jumped back.

            He stared at it for a second, the ornate designs etched into the wood, then stepped back. He numbly walked back to the guard who still stood at the top of the stairs, unmoving, giving no indication that he had heard the shouting he surely could not have missed.

            “Is the prince done with you, sir?” the guard asked, looking up only when Shion was right beside him.

            Shion gritted his teeth, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he murmured, and he followed the guard back out of the castle, into a night that had darkened in his absence.

*


	4. Chapter 4

The three days after Nezumi had accepted his role as the Silver Prince was the longest span of time that Shion spent without seeing the man since they’d met.

            But no – that wasn’t quite right. Shion saw Nezumi constantly – in the newspaper, on the posters that had been put up to celebrate the found prince, in the weakest hours of the morning when Shion finally managed to close his eyes and fall asleep.

            Now, when he dreamt of the man, Shion was careful to keep his eyes trained on Nezumi and Nezumi only.

            He was scared that his gaze would wander, and even in his unconscious, Shion worried of catching sight of a clock, finding evidence that this time he had with his friend was all in his head. Even when he knew he was dreaming, Shion acted as though he was awake.

            He became good, at acting. Acting fine when his mother asked. Acting awake when all he wanted was to sleep again, to dream again. Acting happy when he tended to customers, smiled at them.

            He examined his smile in the mirror. Compared it to Nezumi’s smile, plastered to yet another newspaper. Nezumi’s looked realer than his, and Shion wondered how he made it so, how he could pretend so well, how lying could come so easily to Nezumi when Shion found himself struggling to make it through each and every day.

            With the question of when the lost prince would return answered for them, the people of the kingdom turned to a different question, one Shion found himself quite sick of hearing, after only three days.

            _Will the Silver Prince accept his marriage proposal from the neighboring princess?_

            A royal wedding was on everyone’s mind, and Shion could not escape the gossip of it as he worked in the bakery.

            “They would be such a gorgeous couple!”

            “Can you imagine? And when they have a child – a new royal family, how wonderful!”

            Shion asked his mother if he could stop working with customers and just stay in the kitchen doing prep work, and she agreed, not asking why, just smiling gently and squeezing his arm.

            Outside of the bakery, the gossip was no less persistent. Shion had only braved it once, heading out to the grocers, but stopping by the theater on the way home, asking the girl at the counter inside if he could talk to Nezumi’s manager, whom he’d only met a handful of times before.

            The girl asked Shion to wait, and after ten minutes or so, Nezumi’s manager appeared, grinning widely, happier than Shion had ever seen him.

            “You!” the manager yelled, hugging Shion when Shion stood up, and Shion took a step back to keep his balance, startled.

            “Um – ”

            “Eve’s friend, I recognize ya. Of course I do, you’re recognizable, you are.”

            “Oh, um, hi,” Shion said, when the man finally let go of him, confused by the enthusiastic greeting.

            He’d never known Nezumi’s manager even acknowledged his presence.

            “I just wanted to ask if Eve was coming back to work here,” Shion said, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the handle of his grocery bag.

            “Of course he is! Talked to him just yesterday, didn’t I? Was invited all the way to the castle, if you can believe it. ‘Course Eve and I go way back, always were close,” the manager boasted, and Shion blinked, wondering if the manager had really managed to convince himself of such a bold lie.

            “When is he coming back?”

            “Tomorrow night, won’t it be? Already fully booked, of course, and you’ll have to buy new season tickets, won’t you, the prices had to be raised. Can’t charge nothing to see the prince, now can I?”

            Shion felt himself relax, relieved. At least Nezumi was still acting. At least there was this part of him that had not changed.

            “Anything else to say, have you? I’m an important man now, you see. Close to Eve, our prince, you know, people always vying to talk to me.”

            “Right. No, that’s it. Thanks.”

            “Sure, sure, I’ll send a word for him, if you’d like. I’ve been doing that, offering to pass messages on. We talk, you see, the prince confides in me, of course he does.”

            Shion just shook his head, completely certain that Nezumi did not talk to his manager unless absolutely forced to, and even then, it was a small miracle he hadn’t gotten fired for his insolence towards his own boss.

            “I’m fine, thank you, really,” Shion replied, backing away, then ducking out the theater door.

            Outside, he walked slowly back to the bakery, dropping off the groceries into the kitchen before heading upstairs.

            At his desk, he checked his exam grades, which had come out that morning.

            He’d passed all of his classes and officially earned his degree.

            Shion stared at his transcript. He waited to feel a rush of accomplishment, but all he felt was the urge to tell Nezumi, to hear the man tease him, ask Shion if he really thought some silly numbers on paper could make him any smarter, then step forward, ruffle Shion’s hair, smile and offer his real congratulations.

            Shion closed his eyes. The prince had better things to do than congratulate one of his subjects on getting his degree.

            Shion stood up from his desk. Paced his room, then left, walking back downstairs, out the bakery doors, onto the street. He didn’t think about where he was going, and when he stood in front of Nezumi’s apartment building fifteen minutes later, he wasn’t particularly surprised to find himself there.

            It was easy, to let himself in. The buzzer had stopped working, and Shion opened the door of the building, skipped the elevator that broke down half the time anyway and took the stairs, up three flights to Nezumi’s floor.

            Nezumi’s lock was faulty, and after a bit of jimmying, Shion was stepping into Nezumi old place.

            The two feet of carpet in front of the door made up one of the rare spaces that Shion was actually able to walk. Everywhere else, stacks of books were splayed, some of which had tipped over, scattered across the floor to take up even more space. Shion had been saving his money to buy Nezumi a book case, a big one, one that could fit all of his books.

            He tried to think about the castle, whether it had any bookcases, why Nezumi hadn’t picked up his books as yet.

            The mattress took up half the room, which led into the kitchen, and Shion stepped carefully around books to make it there, wanting to check the cupboards, see if they were empty.

            He stopped on sight of the sink, or more accurately, what was next to the sink: A mug filled with water and one silver rose, wilted.

            Two petals had fallen off and laid on the side of the sink beside the mug. The silver of the rose had faded into a dull grey in the week since it had been given.

            Shion reached out, touched the rose, and at his touch another petal fell, joined the other two.

            Shion retracted his hand, then reached again. Picked up the fallen petal, wrapped his fingers around it, then slipped it into his pocket.

            It would wilt further, there, disintegrate. Shion knew this.

            He didn’t really care. His eyes were burning, and he didn’t know why. It was just a stupid rose, after all, of course Nezumi kept it, he probably just put it in the cup as an afterthought, it didn’t mean anything, just like the sex hadn’t meant anything, and Shion didn’t want it to mean anything anyway.

            He didn’t want it to mean nothing, either, though.

            Shion wanted to take the entire flower home, not just the petal in his pocket. He did not want this rose to sit here, wilting, with no one to watch it on its last days. He wished Nezumi had taken it with him, wondered if the man had taken anything, and Shion took to opening cupboards in rough movements, slamming them closed, scrambling around Nezumi’s small space to open the chest where he kept his clothes.

            The cupboards were full, but the chest was empty. That made sense. The castle had its own dishes, anyway.

            Shion tried to think of anything else personal that Nezumi might have left or taken, but the man didn’t have many material items.

            He didn’t have much to leave behind from his old life, but for this rose on the counter, the books on the floor, and Shion himself, standing among them, running his fingers over the petal in his pocket, feeling his chest constrict.

*

Nezumi’s manager was right. Nezumi’s play was sold out, and no matter what Shion tried, he couldn’t get himself a ticket. He stayed home during the play, watching the clock, thinking of what act Nezumi would be in – it was a play Shion had already seen many times, after all – thinking of what line Nezumi would be speaking now.

            As he imagined Nezumi on stage, Shion stacked his textbooks in the corner of his room. He wouldn’t need them any longer, but didn’t quite want to throw them out. Nezumi had once accused Shion of being a hoarder, but Shion had replied that one simply couldn’t know when something old was needed, better not to throw anything out, just in case.

            Once he finished stacking, Shion walked a bit around his room, glanced outside the window, found the streets empty and realized most people had not been holed up in their homes, had ventured out, heard of Nezumi’s show, and gotten tickets before they were sold out.

            Shion put on his shoes and jacket, left the bakery, walked the empty streets. Strings of lights on most houses and shopfronts were still up from the festival – the kingdom was still in celebration, after all, with the newly found prince, with the hopeful marriage impeding.

            Shion tried to imagine Nezumi as a husband. He wondered if Nezumi would be touchy with his wife like he was with Shion. He wondered if Nezumi would tangle his legs in hers when they read on opposite sides of the couch. He wondered if Nezumi would reach out, seemingly without even noticing, run his hand through his wife’s hair on the way to make breakfast. He wondered if Nezumi would tease his wife, would make her laugh in turn, would give her a nickname that he would always speak fondly, even though he pretended to be poking fun.

            He wondered if Nezumi would distract his wife when she was trying to concentrate, he wondered if Nezumi would fall asleep against her shoulder if they went to the movies, if his wife would look at his closed eyes in the light of the movie screen and forget about the film entirely. He wondered if Nezumi would try to help his wife cook, be shooed out of the kitchen because he didn’t like following directions, preferred making up his own steps, burning the first batch of cupcakes in the process, licking half the icing from the tips of his fingers before they could even apply any to the second batch.

            Shion wondered if Nezumi would kiss his wife, deeper than the deepest parts of the sea. Wondered if his wife would look into Nezumi’s eyes and see lightning in the middle of a storm. Wondered if Nezumi would press his small smile into the crease of her neck to hide it, if she would see it anyway, if she would feel it over every inch of skin, if she would still feel it, four days later, if she would wonder if she would feel it always, the warmth it left inside of her, must have injected into the marrow of her bones – what other explanation was there, as to why it still would not have faded?

            Shion only realized he was crying when he made a sound, and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, felt that the rest of his face was wet, that his eyes burned and he could hardly see, for the water in them.

            Wiping his eyes and looking around, Shion saw that he was by the flower shop, which was closed. Shion walked towards it, but there were no silver roses left, and Nezumi never liked flowers anyway, what good would they be?

            Shion looked at his watch. Saw that the play would be ending around now – he guessed the curtain would be rising after the final act, Nezumi would be bowing with his cast, maybe looking up at the audience afterwards, maybe scanning their faces, maybe searching.

            Or maybe not.

            Shion turned around, headed back to the bakery, wiped his face again with his sleeve. He did not want to be out when the crowd left the theater. He would stay inside, peek out his window at the celebratory kingdom who had found their prince, while Shion only felt as though he’d lost his.

*

“You should talk to him.”

            Shion lifted his head from his pillow. Looked at his clock, saw that it was only eight in the morning, much too early to stop dreaming, he still had time, he still had time.

            He looked away from the clock to his mother, who stood in his doorway in an apron.

            “Who?” Shion asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

            Karan only smiled. It was a dumb question.

            Who else was there?

            “You can’t just go and talk to a prince. You have to be invited. I think,” Shion muttered.

            “That can’t be right. The prince is there for the people, is he not? And aren’t you a person in this kingdom? If you have grievances, it’s his duty to listen, to do what he can to help.”

            “I don’t have grievances,” Shion mumbled, embarrassed.

            “Okay. Then talk about anything. Nezumi has always listened to you, which is a feat, Shion, honey, you know you talk a lot,” Karan added, smile flickering.

            “I can’t just waste the prince’s time with anything.”

            “Then tell him something.”

            “What?”

            “Something important, Shion,” Karan said, gently, and then she disappeared from Shion’s doorway without elaboration.  

            Shion laid still in his bed, stared up at his ceiling, then got up in a sudden movement.

            He was determined not to be miserable. There was no point in wallowing.

            Shion washed up, got dressed, grabbed his coat. “I’m going out!” he called to his mother before leaving the bakery, but he found himself walking not towards the castle, but to Nezumi’s apartment again.

            He let himself in as easily as the day before, climbed the stairs again, walked into Nezumi’s apartment and found it in the same mess as he had left it.

            He walked carefully to the kitchen, tripping once but righting himself, and found the cup was still on the counter, as were the two petals beside it – but the rose was gone.

            Shion thought about this. It would make sense, of course, to throw the thing out. By now only more petals could have fallen, it was clearly dead.

            But why would Nezumi just come to his apartment to throw out his rose?

            Shion worked his way back into the sea of books, began examining them, looking for specific ones, and he noted that all of Shakespeare’s books were missing.

            That was why Nezumi had come back. For his books. He must have seen the dying rose, must have thrown it out before leaving because who left a dying rose on a counter?

            Shion left the apartment, found himself walking quickly outside, was at the doors of the castle along with a small group of people who must have been waiting to tell Nezumi their grievances – right?

            Shion couldn’t figure out why they were there, didn’t really care, looked for the guard instead, the one who’d let him in before.

            The guard was standing outside the door, and Shion ran up to him, was met with a hand on his chest.

            “You cannot go further, sir, without permission.”

            “I need to see him,” Shion said, and the guard looked at him fully. Shion could see the recognition – as Nezumi’s manager had said, Shion was pretty recognizable, after all.

            “Many people need to see the prince,” the guard said, slowly.

            Shion wondered what this guard had heard. If he had heard everything. If he could see how much it hurt Shion, to have to get permission to see the man who was a part of him, to see this man he refused to live without.

            “Please. Please, he’s my – I need to see him.”

            The guard looked at Shion for a moment, then said, “You danced with the prince at the Kingdom Dance.”

            Shion blinked, distracted. How had this guard even noticed? But then Shion remembered that there had been rumors that day about how Nezumi was the lost prince – of course people were watching him.

            Shion nodded. “Yes.”

            The guard examined Shion half a minute longer, then turned, opened the door, gestured inside. “I believe the prince is in his room,” he said, and Shion rushed through it, forgetting in his relief to thank the guard, having to double back, stick his head through the door.

            “Thank you,” he said, and the guard merely nodded at him.

            Shion bounded up the marble staircase. Stepped over the rope, which was closed. Slowed as he walked down the hall to the door at the very end, then knocked, gently, hardly touching it, he couldn’t even hear it himself.

            Still, after hardly a minute, it opened.

            “Shion.”

            “I miss you,” Shion breathed, wanting to hug this man he hadn’t seen in too long, but he held himself back.

            Nezumi’s lips opened. Then closed. He swallowed, and Shion watched the way his throat moved. He looked uncertain.

            “How did you get past the guards?”

            “I asked to come up,” Shion replied, but this was not what mattered, not the information that was important, and his mother had told him to say the important things.

            “Useless,” Nezumi murmured, shaking his head, and Shion ignored him.

            “I don’t care if you have to act around me. I don’t know what you’re acting as, why you feel any need to pretend, but I will not let you act as if we do not need each other. You are my best friend, Nezumi. I won’t let you push me away. I don’t give a damn if you’re a prince,” Shion said, a rush of words, as Nezumi watched him silently.

            “Is that all?” Nezumi asked, after a pause. “As far as your speeches go, that was shorter than I expected.”

            “If I need to keep going, I will,” Shion replied.

            At this, Nezumi’s lips twitched. “No. I think that will do.”

            “Are you going to tell me what you’ve been lying about to me every day, supposedly?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi sighed. “I’d rather not.”

            “Tell me.”

            “You’re not the prince, you know. I don’t have to give you what you want.”

            “Are you lying to me right now?” Shion asked.

            “What? You do know you’re not the prince, right?” Nezumi asked, squinting at Shion.

            “No, not about that. You said you lied to me every day. Had to act every day around me. Are you lying now? Are you acting now?” Shion asked, somewhat worried about the answer, doubtful at the same time that Nezumi would even bother to give him one.

            Nezumi’s jaw clenched. He looked away from Shion, behind him, into the hall.

            “Not everything is so simple, Your Majesty,” he finally said, looking back at Shion.

            “Why not?”

            Nezumi ran a hand through his bangs. “Do you always have to ask so many questions?”

            Shion didn’t bother answering him, as he had another question. “Do you want me to leave?”

            Nezumi glared at him. “I thought you said you wouldn’t let me push you away or some melodramatic shit like that? Aren’t I supposed to be the actor here?”

            “I won’t leave, I’m just asking if you want me to,” Shion replied.

            “Clearly, it doesn’t matter what I want,” Nezumi said dryly.

            “Maybe it matters more than you think, and if you could just stop being so stubborn and tell me, then you would see that.”           

            Nezumi laughed, lightly, not quite fully, but the sound was still warm. “And you will grant all my wishes? All I have to do is ask?”

            Shion put his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you try it and see?”

            Nezumi rested the side of his head against the doorframe. “Okay,” he sighed. “Let’s see, I want my guards to do their job and alert me of unwanted visitors.”

            “What else?”

            “That was a hint, you know. Was I too subtle?”

            “What else do you want, Nezumi?” Shion asked, refusing to be sidetracked.

            For as stubborn as Nezumi could be, Shion could hold his own just as well.

            “I want unwanted visitors with, say, white hair and red eyes, for instance, to understand that they are unwanted,” Nezumi replied, flatly.

            “Understood. What else do you want?”

            “Why do I have to want so many things? Not everyone is as greedy as you,” Nezumi muttered.

            “What else do you want, Nezumi? If you respect me, then take me seriously, don’t just play these stupid games. Speak to me as your equal,” Shion said.

            Nezumi looked at him for a moment. Nodded. “Okay, Shion. I want to stop pretending.”

            “Pretending what?”

            “That I don’t want more,” Nezumi replied, softly.

            Shion tried to wrap his head around what his friend was admitting. Nezumi wanted more, and was tired of pretending he didn’t…Is that what he was saying?

            “What do you want more of?” Shion asked.

            “Shion, you’re so incredibly stupid,” Nezumi said, the words sounding as though they were coming through clenched teeth.

            “I’m just trying to understand!” Shion replied, hotly. “It’s not my fault you’re being so cryptic!”

            “Cryptic? Are you kidding me? I fucking kissed you, Shion, I slept with you, how on earth is that cryptic? What do you need, to adopt kids and raise a family before you understand what the hell I want?” Nezumi snapped.

            In the silence afterward, Shion was aware he was gaping. He was not aware of much else.

            “What?” he asked, mostly to say something, prove to himself that he had not lost his voice, still retained the ability to speak.

            “Are you trying to be stupid now? Surely this level of incompetency has to be on purpose, right?” Nezumi demanded, glaring.

            “You – You want more of…me?”

            “Not particularly right now, no,” Nezumi muttered. “Do you have to word things like that? You sound ridiculous.”

            “How do you want me to word it? That – That you’re in love with me?” Shion asked, a little louder than he’d meant to ask, shouting, almost, by accident, voice rising with each word.

            Nezumi’s eyes narrowed further. “No, that is not how I want you to word it. I don’t want you to word it at all. I just want you to shut up for once, do you think you could manage that?”

            “After you told me you loved me?” Shion asked, shocked. “No, I can’t.”

            Nezumi dragged his palm over his face. “So fucking annoying,” he mumbled, under his breath, but Shion was close enough to hear him, found that he didn’t care at all.

            “Have you always been in love with me?” Shion asked, curious now, wanting more, wanting all of this truth Nezumi had kept from him.

            The words warmed him, filled him, and he wanted to burst.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nezumi muttered, looking at Shion as though he was something unbelievable.

            “When did you realize it? Was there a specific moment?”

            “I am not some theory in your textbook! Stop analyzing me!” Nezumi snapped.

            “Have you gone through stages? Did you believe what you were feeling, at first, or try to deny it? Or was it something easy to come to terms with?” Shion wondered, aloud, while Nezumi stared at him.

            “You’re actually still going?” Nezumi asked, sounding amazed.

            “Do you think about it all the time, or do you only remember sometimes, in small moments, or are you so used to it that you don’t have to think about it, sort of like friendship in that you don’t have to consciously make an effort to feel – ”

            “Hey!” Nezumi shouted, loud enough for Shion to jump back, cut himself off.

            “What?” he asked, startled.

            “Don’t just talk yourself into a coma. It’s giving me a headache.”

            Shion stopped, realized he was possibly reacting wrong.

            If Nezumi was in love with him, that meant he would want Shion to love him back, wouldn’t he?

            “Do you want me to tell you I’m in love with you too?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi gaped at him. “Does that sound like shutting up to you?” he asked, finally.

            Shion smiled at his friend. Wondered why he’d never realized it, but then, Shion had always known he needed this man. Had always known he could not survive without Nezumi by his side. Had always known that this man was his warmth, his calm, his storm, his everything.

            Wasn’t that love?

            Wasn’t the constant desire for Nezumi’s smile pressed against his skin the very same thing as a confession?

            Wasn’t the way Shion found it impossible to shake this man’s voice from his head, found himself endlessly distracted by this man, found himself craving this distraction – wasn’t that what it meant, to be in love?

            “You should stop grinning like that, it’s unnatural,” Nezumi said.

            “You can have more. You can always have more,” Shion offered to his friend, because even if he was in love with this man – and he was, he was – Nezumi would always be his best friend. “I was always yours, you know. You never had to pretend anything.”

            “Listening to you speak could drive a person insane,” Nezumi said, exasperated, shaking his head at Shion, who couldn’t stop smiling at this man who loved him.

            “Then shut me up,” Shion said, and at this, Nezumi laughed, an outburst of sound, doubling over and covering his mouth with his palm.

            “Did you really think you could get away with a line like that?” Nezumi asked, wiping his eyes as he finally straightened up.

            “So what should I do then? Just kiss you out of the blue like you did?” Shion asked.

            “You should do whatever you want, Your Majesty,” Nezumi replied, still smirking, and what Shion wanted was to kiss him – so he did.

*


	5. Chapter 5

While Nezumi played with Shion’s hair, Shion stared at the ceiling.

            “You have to marry someone from another kingdom. That’s the rule,” Shion said, quietly, breaking the rhythm of their breaths.

            “Any more fun facts?” Nezumi asked, mildly, and Shion turned his head on the pillow, looked at the man whose hair was scattered around his face and neck and bare shoulders.

            “Did you think about that?” Shion asked.

            “Think about what?” Nezumi sighed, eyes finding Shion’s, and Shion smiled at him, unable to help it.

            This man loved him, this man loved him.

            Nezumi’s lips quirked, and he leaned forward, pressed them to Shion’s bare shoulder.

            It was strange, Shion thought, that the feeling of Nezumi’s lips on his skin was already so familiar to him, when today was only the second day he’d ever known it.

            “What?” Shion asked, having forgotten what they were talking about.

            “You asked me if I think about something. What?” Nezumi said, softly, lips hardly removed from his shoulder, moving against his skin.

            “Oh. Did you think about how you have to marry someone from another kingdom?” Shion asked.

            When Nezumi blinked, Shion could feel the movement of his eyelashes on his skin.

            “I’ve only been the prince for a few days, Shion. I haven’t thought about marriage yet.”

            “But you received a proposal,” Shion insisted, and Nezumi moved away from him, leaned up on his elbow, rested his chin on his palm and looked down at Shion.

            His hair fell around his face, dipping down, tickling Shion’s chin.

            “I’m not marrying that princess, Shion.”

            “Why not?” Shion asked, and Nezumi’s eyebrows creased together.

            “Do you hear what you’re asking me?” he asked.

            “You have to marry someone,” Shion pressed.

            “You really have this way of ruining the moment,” Nezumi complained, falling back down beside Shion, and Shion turned to look at him again, watching him weave his fingers into his hair.

            Hair that Shion had just felt in his own fingers, in the small moments of time when Shion was not exploring the rest of Nezumi’s body, trying to feel everything at once, wanting to know every bit of this man, memorize him, mold him into the creases of his fingerprints.

            “I’m just saying, you need to think about this.”

            “Why do I need to think about this?” Nezumi asked, closing his eyes.

            “We’re not allowed to have a relationship, Nezumi. As the Silver Prince, you can’t be with anyone in your own kingdom.”

            “Can we go back to before when we didn’t have sex? I don’t think it’s worth it,” Nezumi mumbled, covering his eyes with his hand.

            “Is this relationship just about sex?” Shion demanded, and this time, he was the one to lean up on his elbow, hover over Nezumi, reach out and remove Nezumi’s hand from over his eyes.

            Nezumi looked lazily up at him. “Don’t be stupid, Your Majesty,” he said.

            “Shouldn’t you have thought about us, before you declared yourself the prince?” Shion asked.

            “Do you still think the world revolves around you? I thought you studied science. Have you heard of the sun?” Nezumi said, reaching up, running his fingers through Shion’s hair.

            Shion leaned into his touch. “Your world revolves around me, doesn’t it?”

            Nezumi grinned. “You really do want me to hit you, don’t you?” he commented.

            “I don’t want you to marry anyone else, Nezumi,” Shion whispered.

            “Is that all?” Nezumi asked softly, his fingers drifting from Shion’s hair to around his cheek, then trickling back again, curling around the back of Shion’s neck.

            “I’m being serious,” Shion insisted, as earnestly as he could, with Nezumi pulling him down towards him.

            “I know you are, Your Majesty,” Nezumi breathed, and then Nezumi was kissing him, again, what must have been around the thousandth time in just a half hour, and Shion wished he was keeping count just so he could know how many times his heart had stopped, only to start again, faster, faster, faster.

*

“Your Majesty.”

            Shion woke slowly, opened his eyes to Nezumi sitting up in bed, looking down at him.

            “Morning,” Shion murmured, closing his eyes again.

            “It’s not morning. It’s night. You need to leave.”

            Shion opened his eyes again, squinted at Nezumi. “What?”

            “That guard who let you in just came by. Let me know that you were seen, coming in here. Seems like I’ve got some stalkers, and they know you haven’t left yet.”

            “So?” Shion mumbled, curling into the mattress, cold without Nezumi’s body.

            “I don’t give a damn about these stupid kingdom rules. But apparently…You’re not the most nondescript guy, you know, people already know you from the Kingdom Dance.”

            “Lie down again. It’s cold without you.”

            “Shion, get up or I’ll have to push you off the bed.”

            “Push me, then,” Shion breathed, closing his eyes, about to fall back asleep, but then Nezumi was shaking his shoulder, hard.

            “Hey! Don’t go back to sleep. This is ridiculous. Listen, the guard told me some of the shit people were saying.”

            “Who was saying what?” Shion asked, blearily, sitting up only because Nezumi lifted him by his shoulders.

            “My loyal subjects were saying some not very nice things, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, softly, tilting Shion’s chin up with his fingers, and Shion focused on him.

            “About me?” Shion asked, bewildered.

            “They don’t like you very much, it would seem.”

            “Who?”

            “Lunatics lurking outside the castle,” Nezumi said, scowling slightly.

            “They don’t like me? But they don’t know me,” Shion mused, and Nezumi’s frown turned into a soft smile as he touched Shion’s lips, briefly, with the pad of his thumb.

            “You were the one rambling earlier about the kingdom traditions, weren’t you? Turns out you’re not the only one who memorized the rulebook. You should get out of here, your mother will be wondering where you are, anyway.”

            “She’ll know I’m here,” Shion replied, not wanting to leave.

            “Do you remember, Shion, when some of my drunk fans attacked you outside the theater? Those two men?” Nezumi asked, and Shion squinted at him.

            It had been years before, and Shion had mostly forgotten.

            “They were trying to mug me,” Shion mused, thinking back.

            “No. They knew you and I were close, and wanted to hurt you.”

            “That’s not what happened.”

            “It is what happened. Because after I dragged them off you and told you to go back home, I asked them what the hell they thought they were doing,” Nezumi replied.

            “What?”

            “They told me, after a few incentives to talk, that they didn’t like my boyfriend, didn’t think he was good enough, and were trying to get rid of you for me.”

            “But I wasn’t your boyfriend,” Shion said, confused.

            Nezumi exhaled loudly. “Shion! The point is, those idiots convinced themselves that I’d be better off without you, and decided to get rid of you themselves. According to that guard, the same thing is happening now, but instead of two drunk assholes, it’s a group of people in this kingdom who are probably even more desperate to uphold the goddamn traditions of this place.”

            Shion blinked, understood, finally, what Nezumi was telling him. “You think they’ll attack me because we’re in love?”

            “Just get dressed and leave, Shion,” Nezumi replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll deal with them.”

            “You can’t go around beating people up anymore, Nezumi. You’re the prince,” Shion said, getting off the bed and grabbing his boxers from the floor.

            “I’ll deal with my stalkers how I want to.”

            “Actually, they’re my stalkers, if they’ve been watching my every move,” Shion corrected, pulling on his t-shirt.

            “My kingdom, my people. If you’re my subject, then it’s my job to protect you in whatever way I see fit, isn’t it?” Nezumi replied, standing up from the bed as well, dressed from the waist down, and Shion remembered he must have put on clothes in order to speak to the guard.

            “That’s very chivalrous of you, Nezumi, but I’m not really a damsel in distress. I think you might be overreacting.”

            “Hmm, maybe,” Nezumi said, distractedly, and Shion watched him walk over to his window, glance out of it.

            “What did the guard say, exactly? About what the stalkers were saying about me?” Shion asked, surprised that Nezumi was reacting like this.

            Since when had Nezumi ever cared about what other people said?

            “You don’t need to worry about it, Your Majesty,” Nezumi replied, voice hard and a bit stiff, and Shion was going to argue when he noticed, grabbing his jacket from next to the nightstand, that beside the lamp was the silver rose, this time in a tall vase.

            Shion wasn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d been quite occupied, actually, undressing the man he turned to now.

            “You still have the rose,” Shion said.

            It was fully wilted. The remaining petals clutched precariously to the stem. Any gleam of silver had faded, but still, Nezumi had kept it.

            “Are you still here?” Nezumi asked, mildly, and Shion smiled, walked to the door.

            “Goodnight, Nezumi,” he offered.

            “Goodnight, Shion.”

*

Shion realized he was being followed halfway back to the bakery.

            The night was dark, and Shion had to rely mostly on memory to get him back home. He was already straining his other senses, and at the crunch behind him, whipped around.

            “Who’s there?” he asked, pulse thick in his throat.

            A shadow moved into focus, and the outline was familiar. “I did not mean to alarm you, sir. I inquired from the prince on whether I should escort you home. He agreed.”

            Shion stared at the guard. “What did you say to him? Does he actually think I’m in danger?”

            The guard closed the distance between them, then continued walking towards the bakery, leaving Shion no choice but to follow.

            “It’s best we do not stop to chat. It is already late.”

            “Nobody is going to attack me. That’s ridiculous.”

            “The prince has asked me not to worry you.”

            “But I’m not worried!” Shion objected.

            He did think that Nezumi had to figure out what they were going to do to get around kingdom rules that a royal could only be involved with other royals from other kingdoms. But would the people of the kingdom actually get violent if they bent the rules a little?

            What did the people even know? Just that Shion had danced with their prince. Just that Shion had spent the afternoon and part of the night in the castle. That didn’t have to mean anything.

            There was no way for them to know about the kissing. The more than kissing. The loud breaths and stripping clothes and sweat and searching fingers and arching backs and sliding hands and heavy eyes…

            “The prince informed me, sir, that you could be…reckless.”

            “Reckless? Me?” Shion demanded. “He’s just dramatic! I got mugged one time, and he makes it about him, that’s so typical of Nezumi. He says I’m conceited, but Nezumi seriously has a complex, you don’t have to listen to a word he says, seriously. I can walk the rest of the way on my own, it’s late, you should get some sleep or go home – Do you have a family?”

            “It is not your priority to worry about me. It is my priority to worry about you.”

            “I thought it was your priority to worry about the prince.”

            “And the prince worries about you,” the guard said, simply.

            “Really, that doesn’t sound like Nezumi,” Shion said, smiling, but the guard did not smile back.

            Shion sighed, resigned himself to the fact that this guard wasn’t going to turn back. He didn’t mind the company. He just didn’t want to worry the guard, nor Nezumi, over something so unnecessary.

            “Can I ask you something?” Shion asked, after a moment.

            “Certainly, sir.”

            “What did Nezumi tell you about us?”

            “The prince has only told me to get you home safe, sir.”

            “You don’t have to call me sir. My name is Shion,” Shion offered.

            The guard glanced at him. He was an old man, one of the guards from the time of the Silver Royal’s reign, Shion easily guessed. He wore the traditional guard uniform with pride: black pants, black shirt, and black ornate jacket with silver threads that matched his hair and beard.

            “I prefer sir,” the guard said.

            Shion smiled. “Okay. Thank you for letting me into the castle today.”

            The guard nodded. “It is not my place to speak of the prince on private matters. However…I do believe the castle is very big, and it is not so hard, for a young man to be lonely within it.”

            “You think Nezumi is lonely?” Shion asked.

            “I believe, sir, that the prince is glad to see you, and it is my duty to provide for His Majesty’s happiness.”

            “So you don’t care that I’m not another royal member of a different kingdom?”

            The guard paused for a moment before answering. “Politics are insignificant to me. I have been with the Silver Royal family for my entire life. I looked after His Majesty when he could not even walk. I have seen him grow from a boy to a man among the people of this kingdom, and I have waited for him to return to his throne, knowing he would in his own time. The Silver Prince is my priority, and it is not my place to question his actions or choices. It is only my place to support him and have faith in him. I do believe he will come to love this kingdom as it loves him. Whatever else he does, it is not my place nor my will to object.”

            “Wait – You’ve been watching over him? Since the massacre? Since he disappeared?”

            “I don’t believe I can take the credit for watching over him,” the guard added, stopping and looking at Shion, who realized they were in front of the bakery. “The Royal Guards and the kingdom offers its gratitude to you, sir, for keeping their lost prince safe until his return to the castle.”

            Shion blinked. Shook his head. “But why didn’t you help him? When he was a boy? He was living on the streets!”

            The guard looked away, somewhere to the side of Shion, but when Shion turned, there was nothing there. “It is no excuse. But I – I had my own little boy. Around the age of the prince, perhaps younger, the Silver Princess’s age before her death, perhaps. The Silver Royals let my boy play in their castle. He was there, during the fire. I could not – I should have taken in the prince as my own, but I could not – he reminded me so, of my little boy – I was weak – ”

            “I’m so sorry,” Shion murmured, stepping closer, reaching out for the guard’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I didn’t know. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’d heard that there were a few other deaths along with the Silver Royals, but I’d never given them any thought – I’m sorry – ”

            “You never need to apologize to me, sir. It is because of you that the prince is alive today, and has returned to his rightful role in our kingdom. Go inside now, it is late. Sleep well,” the guard said, placing his hand over Shion’s on his shoulder, then letting go, walking out of Shion’s gesture, and heading back towards the castle.

            Shion thought to call out to him. But what could he say? The man had lost his son years ago, and Shion had no means to help him now.

            He let himself into the bakery with the key he kept in his pocket, closed and locked the door behind him, crept up his steps and into his bathroom. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and undressed quickly before going straight to bed.

            Shion realized, as he laid down, that he was exhausted. It was after two in the morning, and Shion knew the moment he closed his eyes, he would be asleep.

            His last thought, before he closed his eyes, was of the hope, of the happiness, that Nezumi had given to his kingdom by returning to them as their prince.

            How could Shion jeopardize such hope? Take away from such happiness?

            But how could Shion give Nezumi up?

            It was a relief, when sleep took him.

*

Shion didn’t realize he was humming until his mother interrupted him.

            “You’re in a good mood,” she said, passing him with a hand on his back as she went to deliver a bag of muffins to a waiting customer.

            Shion smiled. “I talked to Nezumi yesterday.”

            “I assumed you had, when you didn’t come home. I know you’re a grown man at twenty-two, Shion, but you could do your poor mother a favor and alert her when you return in the middle of the night.”

            “Oh, sorry, Mom.”

            “It’s quite all right, honey. I trust Nezumi to take care of you for me,” Karan said, smiling before tending to the next customer, while Shion handed change to the man who’d just placed his order.

            Shion didn’t mention anything to his mother about Nezumi’s worries, as Shion still wasn’t sure that they were valid. The people of the kingdom were not violent, anyway, but for small crimes here and there every once in a while, but every kingdom had those. The massacre of the Silver Royals had been unexplained, but Shion doubted it was a crime of the kingdom itself.

            He didn’t feel in any danger whatsoever, and in fact headed over to the castle later that day without any trepidation.

            In front of the castle, like the day before, was a small group of people. They were talking amongst themselves, but watched Shion as he approached.

            Shion stared back. Most of the people were older, perhaps around the age of Shion’s mother, though a few seemed in their thirties. In all, there were twelve women and nine men, and a few walked towards Shion as he approached the castle.

            “Hello,” said one of the women, and Shion stopped walking, glancing at the castle doors and noting that the guard from the night before was looking at him.

            “Hi,” Shion said.

            “You are a friend of the Silver Prince.”

            Shion nodded.

            “His Majesty’s duties are to his kingdom now, you do understand,” the woman asked, looking at Shion closely.

            “Yes, I know that,” Shion replied. “Who are you?”

            “I am His Majesty’s loyal subject, and so are you. I think it would do you wise to remember that.”

            “What are you talking about? Just because Nezumi is a prince doesn’t mean he can’t have friends,” Shion argued.

            “It is disrespectful to call the Silver Prince such things.”

            “That’s his name!” Shion shouted. “And why don’t you stop standing around his house?”

            “The Silver Prince doesn’t live in a house,” the woman said, laughing. “He lives in a castle! Perhaps you knew the prince before he took his throne, but it would be wise for you to stop meddling now. This kingdom is ruled by traditions and a respect for them. Its history spans older than your grandparents, as have all of the other kingdoms surrounding us. What do you think will happen if suddenly our kingdom loses what it stands for?”

            “I don’t think you understand. I have no intention of changing what the kingdom stands for,” Shion interjected, but the woman interrupted him.

            “To violate the traditions and rules of this kingdom will weaken the beliefs of the kingdom and therefore weaken the kingdom as a whole, put it at risk of attack or takeover – ”

            “I’m sorry, this has nothing to do with me,” Shion insisted, backing away from the woman, completely bemused. “I really just think you’re misunderstanding,” he said, and then he ran up the castle steps, glanced at the guard he’d come to know.

            “Hello again, sir.”

            “Do they really think that me visiting Nezumi is going to start some kind of kingdom war?” Shion asked, bewildered.

            “Is that what they were saying?” the guard asked, even though Shion knew he’d heard the entire conversation.

            Shion smiled at him. “May I see the prince?”

            “You may,” the guard replied, opening the door for Shion, who bounded in, heading straight up the stairs.

            “Hey!”

            Shion stopped on the second floor, glancing over the banister. “Nezumi?”

            “In the kitchen,” Nezumi called back, and Shion ran back down the steps, slowing as he reached the first floor again, finding the kitchen easily from memories of his previous tours of the castle.

            “Hi,” Shion breathed, walking over to Nezumi, who stood at the stove, stirring something in a pan. He stopped in front of Nezumi, leaned up, and kissed the man’s cheek.

            Nezumi glanced at him. “Are we an old retired couple already? Where did the time go?”

            “I missed you.”

            “Is that right?”

            “I talked to some of the people standing outside your castle,” Shion said, looking into the pot. “What is that?”

            “Tomato sauce. That’s the only thing in these cupboards, cans of tomato sauce. I’ve got to head out later.”

            “You can’t just go grocery shopping! You’re a prince!” Shion objected.

            “Don’t talk to those people outside the castle. Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

            “I don’t think you did, actually. One of the woman said she thinks I’m weakening the traditions of the kingdom, and therefore weakening the kingdom itself, making it susceptible to takeover from other kingdoms.”

            “Idiots,” Nezumi murmured, stirring the tomato sauce with a wooden spoon that he rose to his lips.

            “Maybe she’s right,” Shion suggested.

            “Don’t be stupid, Shion.”

            “Royal marriages have been a tradition since as long as the kingdoms were established,” Shion pointed out.

            “Why are you always talking about marriage?” Nezumi asked, glancing at him.

            “This is a tradition that’s clearly important to many people, Nezumi.”

            “Many lunatics.”

            “They’re still people.”

            “That’s your opinion,” Nezumi replied, turning down the stove and stepping away from it.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Here,” Nezumi said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out two slips of paper that Shion took, fully aware of Nezumi’s attempts to distract him, and refusing to let these attempts be successful.

            That is, until he glanced at the papers. “Are these season tickets?”

            “Being a prince has perks. For you and your mother, stamped with the special cast invite indication. I know my plays have been booked recently.”

            “Thank you, Nezumi!”

            “It’s not that exciting, don’t look so happy,” Nezumi scowled.

            “You know, I’m not that hungry,” Shion said, reaching over and turning off the stove.

            Nezumi raised an eyebrow at him. “That wasn’t for you.”

            Shion smiled, pulled Nezumi’s wrist towards him. “Thank you for the tickets, Nezumi.”

            “You said that already,” Nezumi pointed out, letting Shion pull him closer all the same, resting his hands on Shion’s waist.

            Shion let go of Nezumi’s wrist. Reached up and wound his arms around his prince’s neck.

            “Thank you,” he whispered again, this time to Nezumi’s lips, leaning up.

            “You’re very wel – ” Nezumi started, but Shion cut him off to kiss him, unable to wait another syllable.

*

The first thing Shion thought when he woke was that he’d forgotten to call his mother.

            His mother, admittedly, was not particularly on his mind before he’d fallen asleep. Nezumi had kept him quite distracted for a long enough time that by the end of their last round both men had passed out rather quickly – too quickly for Shion to remember to call Karan.

            He knew she wouldn’t be too worried, and took his time to move, wincing slightly. Shion was mostly accustomed to the soreness now, could tell that it had abated from the first time and soon it would be gone altogether.

            He sat up on Nezumi’s bed, which they’d gradually found their way too, having stopped in several other rooms of the castle before making it there. Shion glanced at the nightstand, noting it was six in the morning – his mother would be up to make fresh pastries before opening the shop.

            Shion looked around for a phone, could find none from his vantage point, and slowly took to extracting himself from the wind of Nezumi’s arms and legs.

            “Mm…” Nezumi murmured, and Shion stopped, looked down at the prince, whose fingers had curled closer against his skin.

            Shion smiled, moved again.

            “Don’t go,” Nezumi mumbled, and Shion froze.

            He couldn’t tell if the man was still asleep or not, dreaming or awake.

            “I’m not going anywhere,” Shion whispered, but Nezumi gave no response, so Shion again moved, this time successfully getting off the bed.

            In Shion’s absence, Nezumi curled into himself, bringing his arms and legs closer to his body. Shion leaned forward and pulled up the blanket that Nezumi had hogged around his shoulders before stepping away, pulling on Nezumi’s shirt from the floor, and exploring Nezumi’s room for a phone.

            He found one on the coffee table and picked it up, dialing his number and stepping out of Nezumi’s room so as not to wake the man.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi, Mom,” Shion whispered.

            “Shion, good morning.”

            “I’m sorry I didn’t call last night. I lost track of time.”

            “That’s all right, it’s enough to hear your voice now. How is Nezumi? It’s been too long since I’ve seen him, do tell him to come by, will you?” Karan asked.

            “I’ll tell him.”

            “Thank you, honey.”

            “Shion?”

            Shion glanced back at the closed door of Nezumi’s room at the sleepy call of his name.

            “It sounds like Nezumi needs you,” Karan said, and Shion could hear the laugh in her voice.

            “Oh, that’s not – ”

            “Better not keep him waiting. Nezumi is not a patient man. Love you, honey, thank you for calling.”

            “Bye, Mom, love you,” Shion said, then hung up the phone, letting himself back into Nezumi’s room.

            “Who were you talking to?” Nezumi asked, from the bed.

            “My mom.”

            “How is Karan?”

            “She said you should come by, she misses you,” Shion said, sitting on the bed.

            Nezumi pulled the back of his shirt up, and Shion batted his hand away.

            “This is mine,” Nezumi noted.

            “I’m borrowing it,” Shion replied, squirming away when Nezumi reached out to pull at it again.

            “Why are you wearing it?”

            “I can’t talk to my mother naked!” Shion objected.

            “You know people can’t see you over the phone, right?” Nezumi asked, yanking the shirt hard now so that Shion went with it, fell into Nezumi’s chest.

            “It’s the principle,” Shion murmured, against Nezumi’s skin.

            “You’re not on the phone anymore,” Nezumi replied, hands snaking under the shirt.

            “I’m still sore, you know, you can’t just abuse me,” Shion laughed, trying to hit Nezumi away.

            “Are you?” Nezumi asked, curiously, distracted from attempting to peel his shirt off of Shion and looking up at him.

            Shion shrugged one shoulder. “A little. I’m fine.”

            “You didn’t say anything.”

            “Because it’s hardly noticeable,” Shion assured, smiling and tucking Nezumi’s hair behind his ears. “Your concern is flattering, though. Very unexpected.”

            “You don’t expect me to care if you’re hurt?” Nezumi asked, leaning up on his elbow.

            Shion tilted his head. “You didn’t hurt me, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi just kept looking at Shion, who didn’t know how to further console the man.

            He wasn’t sure exactly what Nezumi was so worried about, though vaguely, he thought again of the people outside the kingdom, the warning from the guard.

            “What time is it?” Nezumi asked suddenly, breaking his gaze from Shion to look at the clock behind him.

            “A little after six,” Shion replied.

            “You stayed over the night,” Nezumi accused.

            “You don’t have to sound so upset.”

            Nezumi fell back onto the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You really think that just because you believe in the good of people, that makes them decent. That’s not true, Shion. Not everyone is a good person just because you want them to be.”

            “You honestly think those people outside your house are crazy enough to try to – What, beat me up? Because I slept over your place?”

            “You should go. The guard will take you home.”

            “When are you going to realize you’re overreacting?” Shion asked, sitting up.

            “I’ll come by later to see Karan,” Nezumi said, sitting up as well, getting out of bed and pulling on sweats as he stood up.

            Shion sighed, then stood up as well, pulling on his boxers and jeans. “I’m keeping your shirt.”

            “That’s property of the royals,” Nezumi pointed out.

            “Not anymore,” Shion snapped, knowing he was being childish, but annoyed with this man for constantly kicking him out.

            Nezumi just looked at Shion as though Shion was being immature, so Shion stomped out of the room, bounded down the steps, and let himself out of the castle, slamming the door behind him and ignoring the same crowd of people who sat along the castle steps, watching him, even at the early hour.

            He wasn’t even off castle grounds before he remembered he’d have company, and spun around to indeed find the familiar guard following him.

            “You really don’t have to follow me,” Shion called, stopping and waiting for the guard to catch up.

            “Even if the prince didn’t ask me to, I would make sure you got home safely.”

            “Nezumi would be the last one to tolerate a babysitter, this is so hypocritical of him,” Shion complained, as he and the guard continued walking together.

            “Perhaps the prince’s concern for you is simply greater than his concern for himself.”

            “I can take care of myself! I’m not weak!” Shion objected.

            “Being cared for does not make you weak,” the guard replied, and Shion’s retort caught in his throat.

            Hadn’t he always tried to convince Nezumi of the same thing?

            The rest of the walk to the bakery was in silence, and Shion thanked the guard and said goodbye before letting himself inside, walking into the kitchen to find his mother.

            “You’re back already?” Karan asked, looking up at him from the cookies she was sliding off the pan.

            “Yeah. Nezumi has prince stuff to do,” Shion replied, which wasn’t exactly the truth, but Shion figured it couldn’t have been a lie.

            Nezumi must have had some sort of duties as the prince. Shion reminded himself to ask Nezumi about what they were later, when Nezumi came to the bakery.

            “He’s coming over today, though.”

            “Oh, that’s good. He better not forget about me, up in that big castle of his.”

            “I don’t think he’ll be able to forget about you,” Shion replied, walking over to hug his mother from the back.

            “He’ll be in trouble if he does,” Karan said, smiling, and Shion let go of her, stealing a cookie.

            “I’m going to shower, then I’ll come down to help you open up.”

            “All right, hon.”

            Shion left the kitchen and walked up the stairs, heading straight to the bathroom and undressing.

            He pressed Nezumi’s shirt to his face, smelling it for a trace of the prince, before stepping into the shower under the steady stream of warming water.

*

Because Shion was still somewhat annoyed with Nezumi, he didn’t go to the man’s midday show despite his new tickets, and it wasn’t until afternoon that Nezumi came to the bakery, though Shion didn’t notice him at first.

            He didn’t notice Nezumi because Nezumi wore a large trench coat with the hood pulled up, completely covering him, and Shion only knew the strangely dressed man was the prince when he spoke, coming up to the register.

            “Hi, what can I get for you?” Shion asked, trying to peer under the coat, curious as to this stranger’s odd attire.

            “Are you for sale, Your Majesty?” the familiar voice asked, and Shion smiled.

            “And you said my line was bad.”

            “This coat is ridiculously itchy,” Nezumi complained, fidgeting within it.

            “Go on in to the kitchen, then, I’ll be right there after this customer that’s coming in,” Shion offered, and he watched Nezumi slip behind the counter before turning to the next customer.

            After the customer left, Shion set the bell on the counter and walked to the back, finding Nezumi – coat slung on the stool he sat on – talking to his mother.

            “That sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Karan was saying, and Nezumi shrugged.

            “The prince seems to be more of a figurehead than anything. The kingdom runs itself and the council really takes care of everything, I just approve or disapprove stuff.”

            “Are you talking about your princely duties?” Shion asked, sitting on the stool beside Nezumi.

            “Princely duties?” Nezumi asked, glancing at him.

            “What would you prefer to call it?”

            “Tedious work.”

            “I’m sure you will make a difference, Nezumi,” Karan said, smiling at Nezumi.

            “Thank you, Karan.”

            “Where did you get that coat, by the way?” Shion asked, poking the fabric Nezumi sat on. “I’ve never seen it.”

            “Stole it from the costume department at the theater,” Nezumi replied.

            “Surely a prince can walk where he pleases without having to slink around,” Karan said.

            “Anywhere I go, people follow me,” Nezumi grumbled.

            “I thought you would have liked that. A crowd of faithful fans who can shout compliments at you wherever you go,” Shion teased, and Nezumi glared at him.

            “I can help you out in the bakery, Karan, but it might cause a commotion if I worked in the front,” Nezumi said, looking at Karan.

            “You can’t work in the kitchen,” Shion interrupted.

            “Why not?” Nezumi demanded.

            “You can’t bake, Nezumi. We’ve tried this before,” Shion reminded.

            “I’ll follow the recipe this time!” Nezumi snapped. “If I can lead a kingdom, I can bake a cupcake!”

            “You haven’t really done anything for the kingdom yet though, have you?” Shion asked, and Nezumi appeared quite disgruntled, but luckily Karan interrupted before he could retort.

            “How about you stay here and help Nezumi, and, ah, give him tips if he forgets anything,” Karan suggested kindly.

            “Works for me,” Shion said, looking forward to bossing Nezumi around.

            Nezumi watched him suspiciously. “Fine,” he said, and Karan came around the counter, giving him a quick hug.

            “I’ve missed you, Nezumi,” she said, and Shion saw Nezumi smile into her shoulder.

            “I’ve always been right here, Karan,” he replied, and Karan let go of him, rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment, then left the kitchen.

            “I’m still annoyed at you,” Shion informed Nezumi, when his mother was gone and both men stood up to grab aprons.

            “Any particular reason?” Nezumi asked, tying his apron behind him.

            “You can’t just keep kicking me out of your house!” Shion shouted, pushing Nezumi aside to get to the sink in order to wash his hands.

            “Is it exhausting, being upset over such silly things?” Nezumi asked, running his hands under the water with Shion.

            “Wait your turn,” Shion complained.

            “I don’t want to,” Nezumi replied.

            “Are you trying to flirt with me? Because we have to make cupcakes, don’t just think you can get out of helping my mother,” Shion snapped.

            Nezumi looked at him in disbelief. “This is flirting to you? No wonder you’re so bad at it,” he commented.

            “Shut up!” Shion said, pushing the man, who laughed, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands and throwing it to Shion.

            “Relax, Shion, I wouldn’t dare flirt with you. I know how passionate you can be. Karan won’t have her cupcakes until tomorrow if I get you started now,” he teased, and Shion smacked his friend’s shoulder with the towel, finding that it was awfully difficult to stay annoyed at this man who was so incredibly annoying, as impossible as that was.

*

Shion walked with Nezumi – decked in his stolen trench coat – back to the castle late that night.

            Shion had insisted Nezumi should just stay the night, but Nezumi had an early meeting with the council.

            “You could just have left my place early,” Shion said.

            “Don’t start this again,” Nezumi sighed, pulling on the hood of his coat. “This goddamn thing feels weird. Did the theater ever wash it?”

            “Do you think that your crazy stalkers are also stationed outside the bakery, looking for you? Even if they were, they wouldn’t know it was you leaving in the morning if you wore this coat,” Shion insisted.

            “I never used to sleep over, and you weren’t so annoying about it,” Nezumi replied.

            “So it’s my fault that I like to sleep with you?”

            “Do you always have to argue about everything?” Nezumi asked.

            “Are you going to make that guard walk me back home?”

            “Are you going to complain about it?”

            “Probably. It’s unnecessary.”

            “So is your complaining, but I don’t see you stopping,” Nezumi said, sounding annoyed. “Shit, I can’t deal with this thing.”

            “Then take it off!” Shion said. “It’s completely dark out, and there’s nobody outside anyway.”

            “Why the hell is this thing so itchy? Shit, I think there’s a bug in it,” Nezumi cursed.

            Shion giggled, unable to help himself, watching his friend squirm.

            “All right, come here,” Shion said, pulling Nezumi by the sleeve, ducking between two shops even though the street itself was empty anyway.

            He unbuttoned the coat, pulling it off Nezumi, who brushed his hands roughly over his body.

            “Since when were you scared of bugs?” Shion asked, amused, shaking out the coat.

            Nezumi stopped shaking himself off to glare at him. “I’m not scared of them. I just don’t appreciate having them trapped against me by some mangy coat. It’s probably fleas, dammit.”

            “You think you have fleas?”

            “Not me! The coat!”

            “How dirty. I guess it’s a good think you’re not sleeping over. I don’t want someone with fleas on my bed.”

            While Shion laughed at Nezumi’s expression, Nezumi stole the coat from Shion’s hands and threw it over Shion’s head.

            Shion shouted, stumbled as Nezumi pulled the coat and Shion underneath it into his arms, where Shion struggled to free himself. 

            “Get it off!” Shion yelled, between his laughter.

             “What was that about fleas?” Nezumi asked, casually, while Shion writhed in his arms, then gave up, sagging, letting Nezumi’s arms take all of his weight. “Hey – You’re heavy,” Nezumi protested, lifting Shion up all the same.

            In another moment, Nezumi pulled the coat from Shion’s head, and Shion breathed in the fresh air, wiped the sweat from his forehead, grinned at his friend.

             “Now we both have fleas,” he said, happily, while Nezumi stared at him.

             “That makes you happy, does it?”

             “I’m incredibly happy,” Shion replied, and Nezumi reached out, touched his cheek.

            Shion closed his eyes, waiting to be kissed by this man that loved him. No warmth came, and Shion opened his eyes again after several seconds.

            Nezumi was simply looking at him, thumb still on Shion’s scar.

             “What?” Shion asked, disgruntled that he hadn’t been kissed.

             “Nothing, Your Majesty. We should get going.”

            Shion had no time to object, as Nezumi was already moving, thumb slipping from Shion’s cheek, stepping away, leading them out from the buildings Shion had pulled them between and onto the street again.

            As they resumed walking, Shion glanced at the trench coat hanging on the crook of Nezumi’s arm.

            “You’re not going to put on your disguise?”

            “You’re right, it’s dark out,” Nezumi said, softly, looking over at Shion. “And we’re the only two out here.”

            Shion thought about reaching over, stringing his fingers in Nezumi’s, but he didn’t need to.

            He felt the warmth of this man strongly enough, just walking beside him.

*

On the walk back home from dropping Nezumi at the castle, Shion knew that the guard was following him.

            This time, Shion did not look back, nor call out, nor wait for the guard to catch up to him. While he enjoyed the guard’s company, tonight Shion wanted to walk alone – or, at least, under the semblance of being alone despite knowing he was being followed.

            Shion wanted to be alone mostly because he could not stop smiling. In everything that had happened in the last couple days, he hadn’t simply let himself think about the most important thing – not festival day, not Nezumi becoming the prince, not the threats Shion was possibly receiving, not the kingdom rules, not even that Nezumi and Shion had had sex not once, not twice, but several times.

            In everything that had happened, Shion had not given himself a decent amount of time alone to come to terms with the fact that Nezumi was in love with him.

            Had been in love with him.

            Maybe always. Maybe forever.

            And thinking about it now, fully, letting the truth of it consume him, Shion could not stop smiling, almost wanted to shout, almost wanted to run, almost wanted to jump.

            There had been a point, Shion thought, that merely knowing Nezumi was enough. There had been a time when being friends with Nezumi was all he’d needed. There had been a moment, Shion was sure, when simply saying Nezumi’s name, hearing a reply, had been everything.

            But now, Shion did not know how he could have survived another second if he had not known that Nezumi was in love with him.

            That Nezumi felt the same way about Shion as Shion felt about him.

            That Nezumi must have woken with Shion’s name on his lips from calling to him in a dream. That Nezumi must have thought of Shion for no reason at all, while brushing his teeth. That Nezumi must have forgotten where he was going on the way to the grocers, lost in his thoughts about Shion, only to return back home empty handed and remember again. That Nezumi must have been consumed by his ache for Shion, drawn back to him whenever they were apart, felt calm only when he knew Shion was near.

            Shion couldn’t imagine how he had lasted so long, not being sure of the way that Nezumi felt about him.

            But he was so relieved he had lasted. So relieved he had made it to this day when he’d left Nezumi at the steps of his castle, and Nezumi had turned to him, kissed him so deeply even though he was not in any disguise, even though it was kingdom law that a royal could not have a relationship with his subject, even though Nezumi himself insisted their relationship must be kept secret.

            How could Shion be expected to stop smiling, after a kiss like that?

            “Shion.”

            Shion stopped at the voice. He didn’t know it, but it was instinct to stop at the sound of his own name, to turn, to look for whoever was calling him.

            As he stopped, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist, and then he was being yanked so hard he worried his shoulder would be torn from its socket, and then there was a punch to his gut, and the air was torn from Shion’s lungs, so how could he shout out?

            Even so, he heard his name again, called by a different voice, one that he knew, one that usually called him sir, but he still recognized the voice around his real name, he still heard the footsteps, and then Shion wondered vaguely why he was only hearing, wasn’t seeing.

            There was a bag over his head. Loose at first, but then it was tightened, cloth, and Shion knew something bad was happening, did not have much time to figure out what, as then everything was silent along with black, and Shion no longer felt the pain of his shoulder or the strain of his lungs – he felt nothing at all.

*


	6. Chapter 6

Shion felt like death.

            Or what he imagined death might feel like. Perhaps more accurately, the moments before death when pain was constant and everywhere, not the actual condition of death itself when the nervous system was no longer operating, no longer sending pain signals in quick synapses throughout the body.

            Amongst this horrible aching feeling, Shion felt cold, realized the source of this cold was coming from one side of his face, and he wanted to push it away, raised his arms up, but they were heavy, everything was heavy.

            His tongue was less heavy than his arm, so Shion moved that, opened his lips that were no heavier than his tongue, tried to summon a voice that was buried somewhere deep in the center of the ache.

            “Stop,” he whispered, and on whispering, noted his throat was completely dry. He speculated that perhaps this added to the pre-death feeling.

            “Shion?”

            It was Nezumi. Shion knew this immediately and waited for the pain to go away at just the presence of this man, but the pain didn’t go away, and in fact, the cold feeling seemed to grow against his face.

            “Don’t,” Shion breathed, as the cold spread to the other side of his face, less concentrated than the original chill, but still cold, still unwelcome.

            “It’s over now. You’re fine,” Nezumi was saying, which a lie, as the cold clearly wasn’t over, and Shion certainly did not feel fine.

            Shion opened his eyes, found silver eyes trained on him, looked away from Nezumi’s gaze to figure out what the source of the cold was.

            It was Nezumi himself. The man was pressing a Ziploc bag of ice to one side of his face, and to the other Nezumi had cupped his palm – cold from the Ziploc bag, Shion reasoned, proud of himself for being able to use logic despite feeling quite close to death.

            “You’re cold,” Shion murmured, closing his eyes again, because opening them was effort, which Shion wasn’t sure he should be expending.

            “Sorry,” Nezumi said gently, and Shion felt Nezumi’s hand leave his face, though the ice stayed. “How do you feel?”

            “Cold,” Shion replied.

            “The ice is for the swelling.”

            “What swelling?” Shion whispered.

            “What is the last thing you remember, Shion?”

            The cold was in his hair now, and Shion knew it was Nezumi’s fingers, but still shivered from the touch.

            “Cold,” he reminded, quietly, and Nezumi’s fingers were gone again.

            “Try to think.”

            “You kissed me.”

            There was a moment of silence, then, in a slightly strained voice, “Yes. After that?”

            “I walked home.”

            “Keep going, Shion.”

            “I was thinking about you…” Shion mused, peeking at Nezumi, who was clenching his jaw.

            He was upset, Shion realized. Angry, yes, but there was something else there, and Shion squinted, wanted to know.

            “What are you feeling?” he asked.

            “I’m supposed to be asking you that,” Nezumi replied, tightly.

            “You already did.”

            “Shion!” Nezumi snapped, then covered his face with his palm, shook his head just slightly.

            Shion looked away from him. He was in the castle, in the sitting area beside the kitchen. He and Nezumi had had sex on the couch he was lying on just two days before.

            At least, Shion thought it was two days before. He realized he might have lost time.

            “What day is it?”

            “It’s still Thursday night,” Nezumi muttered, into his palm.

            Good. Shion hadn’t lost any time, maybe a few hours at most.

            “Are you going to tell me what happened to me?”

            Nezumi dropped his hand from his face. Looked at Shion, not his face, but his body, and Shion felt the sweep of his gaze as if it were something tangible.

            “I don’t know what happened to you, Shion.”

            Shion considered this. “How did I get here?”

            “How much pain are you in?” Nezumi asked.

            “Everything hurts,” Shion said, before he could stop himself, and then he realized he should have lied as Nezumi’s face fell, his jaw tightening.

            The man looked away from Shion. Stared at the side of the room.

            Shion wanted to reach out. Touch his face. But his arms were still too heavy.

            “Sorry,” Shion offered.

            “Why the hell are you sorry?” Nezumi asked, but his voice was hollow rather than sharp.

            “How did I get here?” Shion asked again, because he didn’t know how to answer Nezumi’s question.

            “Don’t know. The doorbell rang. I answered it. You were on the castle steps. Unconscious.” The skin of Nezumi’s face was paling, and Shion worried for him. The man was already so pale to begin with.

            “How long have I been here?” Shion asked gently, wanting to know how long Nezumi had crouched in front of him, waiting for him to wake up.

            “Don’t know.”

            “Nezumi.”

            “I don’t know, Shion,” Nezumi snapped, eyes narrowed at Shion now. “What the hell do you want from me? I don’t know what happened to you, I don’t know who did this, I don’t know where my fucking guard is, I don’t know, Shion, will you stop asking so many questions, for once, Shion, will you just stop it?” Nezumi demanded, voice falling with each word, soft by the end of it so that Shion could hardly hear the last of his syllables.

            Shion swallowed, but the motion hurt. He wanted to ask for water, but that was a question, and he preferred the hurt of his dry throat to the hurt of Nezumi’s eyes, before the man looked away from him again.

            “I’m sorry,” Shion whispered.

            “Don’t say you’re fucking sorry,” Nezumi breathed, still not looking at Shion.

            “What can I say then?” Shion blurted out, again not thinking, and he blamed the pain.

            It was distracting him. It shouldn’t have been coming from everywhere. It had to be coming from somewhere, and Shion tried to concentrate, but his head was throbbing – oh, that was it.

            It was his head, Shion realized. The back of it, specifically, and Shion closed his eyes, tried to focus more.

            The pain pulsed from the back of his head in waves that felt as though they trickled over every inch of his body. It was a trick. Head traumas were like that. Tricky.

            Shion was relieved to know the source of the problem. Relieved that he was not entirely broken. Just his head.

            He wondered at the ice pack. That was on his face. So two wounds then – one on the back of his head, one on the left side of his face.

            “Nothing,” Nezumi said, finally, and Shion opened his eyes, remembered a moment late that he had asked Nezumi something, Nezumi had just taken too long to answer. “Don’t say anything, Shion. Just don’t say anything.”

            So Shion didn’t say anything. Now that he had the source of his pain down, he focused on a different task – lifting his arm.

            It shouldn’t have been difficult. His arm was not injured. It was his head that was slow, sluggish, made everything seem heavier, but what did his head know?

            His muscles were fine. He was fine, he was fine.

            When he managed to lift his arm, the relief was overwhelming despite the pain flowing from his shoulder. Shion ignored this. Did not want to add to his list of injuries. He reached out, touched Nezumi’s face, just the edge of his jawline that was strained so tightly.

            Nezumi flinched, looked at Shion suddenly.

            Shion dropped his hand. That was enough for now, he’d rest for now, now that he’d gotten Nezumi to look at him again.

            “You know why they did this, right?” Nezumi asked, voice completely cool, toneless.

            “Who?” Shion asked. He thought they didn’t know. He thought they didn’t know anything about what had happened to Shion.

            “You were dropped on my doorstep. A message to me.”

            Shion couldn’t respond, as there was a crashing sound, and he looked up, jerking his head to see behind him, which was a horrible idea.

            “Ah,” he moaned, instinctively at the pain, regretting the sound as soon as it came from his lips, but Nezumi wasn’t even paying attention.

            The ice was finally off of Shion’s face, as Nezumi had stood up, was walking away from Shion, to the source of the crash.

            “Nezumi,” Shion called, softly, not wanting the man to leave him, never leave him.

            Maybe he was scared. Just a little. It had been scary. Shion didn’t remember what it was, but he remembered the feeling of fear, thick and bitter in his throat like bile.

            Nezumi did not respond.

            “Shion’s gone! Your Majesty, Shion was – ”

            It was the guard. Shion blinked, reminded himself not to turn around again, but wanted more than anything to see what was going on in the front of the castle where the guard must have burst in.

            “He’s here,” came Nezumi’s voice. Cold, clipped, and Shion wanted to tell him it wasn’t the guard, the guard would never hurt him, would never risk Nezumi’s happiness.

            “How is – ”

            “Head injury. Black eye. What happened?”

            “He was attacked – ”

            “I gathered that myself, thanks,” Nezumi said, so low Shion was surprised he could still hear the man.

            “It was too fast, they came out of nowhere, all I saw were two figures, it was too dark to see more. One yanked him out of the street, into an alleyway between two buildings. By the time I ran after him, they were gone.”

            There was silence. Shion remembered being yanked. The pain in his shoulder, like something hot. Sprained, he guessed, since he could still raise his arm.

            He remembered being punched as well, and with remembrance came the feeling of being winded, as if he was reliving the moment.

            Shion fought to catch his breath. He was desperate for water.

            As an afterthought, Shion realized it was odd, that neither man at the entrance of the castle was talking.

            But then Nezumi was. “You were there. During the fire. You were there.”

            “Your Majesty – ”

            “You pulled me out. I remember that. You saved my life.”

            Shion held his breath. He hadn’t known Nezumi remembered anything, but maybe Nezumi hadn’t, maybe he was just remembering now, just as Shion was just remembering now the bag over his head, the feeling of his senses being cut off one by one.

            “But you didn’t save anyone else. You didn’t get them out. You didn’t turn back,” Nezumi was saying, quietly, and Shion squeezed his eyes shut, didn’t want to hear anymore, wished the men would go somewhere else so that he would not know what it sounded like, the breaking of Nezumi’s voice.

            “I had to get you away from the flames, Your Majesty. I had to make sure you were somewhere safe.”

            “You should have gone back. It was your job to protect them. Not me. I begged you to go back. I begged you to leave me,” Nezumi said, voice hard now, rising now, and Shion thought how much easier it would be, to feel angry instead of broken.

            He didn’t blame Nezumi, for acting now. He didn’t blame his friend for protecting himself.

            “You can never know how much I wanted to go back. But I was not going to let you die, Your Majesty,” the guard said, voice just as hard, and Shion relieved that he was standing up for himself because what he did was right, what he did was amazing, what he did had changed Shion’s life, and Shion didn’t give a damn if he was being selfish.

            He needed Nezumi. He needed someone to be keeping Nezumi safe, when Nezumi refused to do it himself.

            “I told you to protect Shion.”

            “I know you did, Your Majesty.”

            “So why is he – ” Nezumi shouted, but he cut his shout off at the highest note, maybe because he knew he couldn’t go louder, maybe because he knew his voice might break again, expose him, reveal that there was something under this anger he wore like a mask.

            Shion wanted to call out to him. Just wanted him to come back. To crouch in front of him again, to press this bag of ice to his face, to run his cold hands through Shion’s hair, that was all Shion wanted.

            “I apologize, Your Majesty.”

            More silence. Shion breathed deeply during it. Caught his breath during it, scared for the moment he would hear Nezumi’s voice again.

            But the next person to speak was the guard again.

            “Does he need a doctor?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “We should take him – ”

            “No one’s touching him,” Nezumi said, clipped, allowing no argument.

            “I understand that it is hard to trust – ”

            “You can leave. Now,” Nezumi cut in.

            A smaller silence, then, and the sound of the door opening and closing.

            Nezumi was beside Shion before Shion expected.

            “The medical textbooks. Those books you read for university. Have you still got them?” Nezumi asked, crouched beside Shion again, and Shion turned just slightly to look at him fully.

            “We don’t need them.”

            “I’ll take care of you.”

            “I know you will.”

            “I’m going to get them – ”

            Shion raised his arm – the non-sprained one – and caught Nezumi’s wrist.

            “I want you to stay with me,” Shion said, making sure to keep his voice level, to make Nezumi understand how serious he was, how Nezumi was not to simply go away when Shion fell back asleep.

            And Shion would fall asleep soon. He was already feeling tired, already just wanted to close his eyes, but knew he shouldn’t.

            “Shion – ”

            “I want you to stay, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked at him. Nodded, after a pause.

            “I might have a concussion.”

            “Okay.”

            “That means I shouldn’t sleep.”

            “Okay.”

            “Keep me awake, Nezumi. Stay here and talk to me,” Shion said, thinking about how not too long ago, it was their norm to sit in the bakery at one of the tables after cleaning up and talk, just talk, until it was so late, until they were both exhausted, slurring their words from the late hour. Until the first day Nezumi asked to sleep over, had insisted he’d sleep on Shion’s bed, and Shion had agreed, had woken to this man’s limbs around him, had never wanted to leave their warmth.

            “Okay, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, and he sat on the floor, began talking while Shion willed himself to stay awake just so he could hear every word, just in case in this late hour Nezumi came up with the secret for how to turn back time.

*

Shion opened his eyes, aware that he was not in fact being hit over the head with a sledgehammer, but nevertheless suffering from that exact sensation.

            He glanced around blearily, looking for Nezumi, wondering when he’d fallen asleep, hoping his cognitive abilities hadn’t been impaired.

            Shion licked his lips. Braced himself to reach next to the sofa for the glass of water Nezumi had brought him. He picked it up, clenching his teeth together from the pain of moving his head, and took several sips, then tried his voice.

            “The square root of 144 is 12. The three types of rock are igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic. Today is most likely Friday morning if I slept through the night. My name is Shion, I am twenty-two years old, I live in the Silver Royal Kingdom,” Shion recited, thinking up questions and answering them on his own, reassuring himself that at least his basic functions and memories seemed intact.

            He listened for a moment to see if there would be any reaction to the sound of his voice, but could hear no sign of his friend, and therefore called tentatively:

            “Nezumi?”

            Shion waited again, heard nothing, resigned himself to the fact that Nezumi had left him.

            Shion didn’t want to consider what it was Nezumi was doing. Instead, he set his mind on the task of standing up.

            Rigorous movement, of course, was not good for a serious head wound. But Shion needed to inspect the wound, possibly clean it, and attempt to rebandage it.

            Nezumi must have wrapped a bandage around his head while he was sleeping, and another around his shoulder. Shion touched both gingerly, but still thought it best for him to see his injuries. He didn’t like not knowing the exact condition of his body.

            Also, it was good practice. Shion was always looking for more practical medical experience.

            He lifted himself into a seated position on the couch gingerly, knowing beforehand that dizziness was likely, and therefore already breathing deeply in order to lessen the dizziness when it hit him.

            He sat still for a few breaths, letting his head stop spinning, then moved to stand up, using his good arm to push himself slowly off the couch. Once standing, Shion took a tentative step, stopped, breathed, took another step.

            The dizziness did not get better. The pain seemed to be rolling around his head, a throbbing that pulsed in waves and made it hard to focus, but Shion made himself get around this difficulty.

            He’d always managed to focus with many distractions, anyway. Having Nezumi around prepped him for concentration in the most trying of times.

            Shion made his way to the closest bathroom on the first floor, skipped looking at the mirror to pee, then finally turned to look at his reflection.

            He winced on simply seeing himself. The black eye was gruesome, a purple-greenish thing that spread in an unsightly splotch on the left side of his face. The swelling, at least, was not too much around his eye, and his vision was hardly compromised.        

            Nezumi’s bandages were haphazardly wrapped, and Shion worked with the shoulder bandage first. Instead of unwrapping it fully, he merely unwound a few layers in order to pull them tighter, knowing starting the bandage over completely with just one arm would be a challenge.

            He tested his arm, trying to move it to see if the bandage was too loose, finding he could not move very easily, and the pain was nonexistent at his current position.

            Maybe a slight ache, but that wasn’t bad, easily ignored. Good. Shion moved on to his head.

            He turned sideways, glanced at his reflection, saw that the back of his hair was pink, lighter on the sides and darker at the very back, where the darkest hues were covered by Nezumi’s bandage.

            Shion considered chancing a shower. He didn’t much like the idea of having dried blood in his hair. But a shower was a dangerous option – he could easily lose focus, slip, fall, and risk further injuring himself. Better to wash his hair over the sink.

            Shion didn’t bother going upstairs for shampoo. There was soap in the downstairs bathroom, and it would suffice.

            Knowing there was no point in delaying, Shion began to unwind the bandage with his good arm. The pressure of the bandage on his head, he realized, had been more valuable than he’d been aware of. The moment he got to the bottom layers of the bandage, his dizziness was swooping over him, and he had to reach out, grip the edge of the sink for support as he caught his breath again before continuing.

            The last few wraps of the bandage were soaked red. Shion peeled them more carefully, and at the last film of bandage that touched his wound, found resistance at his gentle pull.

            Shion closed his eyes. The sight of blood itself didn’t make him dizzy, but the throbbing of his head seemed to be increasing with each layer of bandage he unwound. He breathed carefully, in and out, in and out, then worked to remove the bandage that had stuck to the dried blood of his wound.

            Not fast like a band-aid. Slow jerks, one, two, three, tug a little harder – the bandage fell, and Shion exhaled, bracing himself against the sink again, telling himself it was a job well done in a low voice, rehashing some medical facts about head injuries to calm himself, such as: The head bleeds more than any other part of the body, often exaggerating the severity of the wound.

            His breath caught, Shion lifted a hand gingerly, touched the back of his head. At the sting, he lowered his hand, was relieved to see no stain of blood on his fingertips. At least the bleeding at stopped. The head wound, therefore, could not have been deep. Would heal soon. No serious damage, nothing lasting.

            Shion comforted himself with these thoughts, speaking them aloud as he came to them, hardly noticing that he was still speaking to himself.

            He turned on the faucet, tested the water until it was lukewarm, then took a handful of soap and bent his head down, into the sink.

            He was lucky the sinks were grand and large. Perfect size for a head wound washing, Shion thought, smiling lightly.

            Shion decided he could use his hurt arm, as long as he kept his gestures small. The pain as he lifted his arm was not so bad, with the bandage in place. He moved his hands carefully in his hair. Felt at the dried blood, didn’t bother with the site of the wound just yet, worked only to clean the rest of his hair. He watched as pink water slipped into the drain a few inches from his nose. Every few minutes, he had to lean his arms on the sink, stop bending his head so far, and take more breaths to steady himself. He was shaking, he’d realized, and knew his body needed rest.

            Still, Shion wanted to finish this task. To look as good as new – or, at least, as close to that as he could manage – by the time Nezumi returned from wherever he had gone.

            And so he continued, working his hands closer and closer to his wound, feeling gently the edges of it, coming to the conclusion that he had been hit hard by a blunt object, enough to tear skin but not do much further damage – maybe bruise his skull, maybe that was the throbbing, but nothing more than that.

            The goal, he was able to conclude, was not to hurt him, but to knock him out. Hit hard and fast to knock him unconscious so he could be delivered to the castle door. It was hardly a real threat. Just a message, carefully planned, and Shion found comfort in this, the fact that he could tell Nezumi this, that he had never been in any actual danger, his attackers had only wanted to make a point, hurting him was a simple consequence of it, no big deal, no big deal.

            The closer Shion got to the center of the wound – the center point of contact from the blunt object, Shion surmised – the dizzier he became. To the point where his legs were shaking. To the point where Shion no longer saw the bright red slipping down the sink from his hair, as his eyes were shut tight. To the point where Shion was no longer cleaning his wound at all, as his fingers were curled around the porcelain of the sink, nails digging deep, somewhat painful against the hard surface.

            When his stomach swooped, Shion lowered himself, carefully, forgetting to turn off the sink, and he could hear it still running as he sat on the floor. He scooched himself back against the wall, leaned his side against it, tucked his head down between his bent knees.

            Took more deep breaths. Wished Nezumi was there but was infinitely more relieved Nezumi was not there.

            No need to worry the man. It wasn’t a big deal. Head traumas look worse than they appear. Shion reminded himself that he hadn’t eaten much the previous day, hadn’t eaten anything that morning. It might even have been midday by now. No wonder he was dizzy. Had nothing to do with the wound at all.

            Vaguely, over the running of the sink, Shion heard the front door opening. There was a clamoring outside the door that erupted into the castle until the door was shut. Shion thought the clamoring sounded like cheers. Applause. Maybe.

            It would be Nezumi, of course, and Shion did not want Nezumi to find him sitting against the bathroom floor, but the door had been left open so that the room would not fill with the smell of blood, and Shion was too far away from it to kick it closed.

            He was still too dizzy to chance standing up again just yet. Knew if he did, it would be worse, he would be falling, better to sit, better to inhale deeply, better to exhale slowly.

            Nezumi walked right to the bathroom. Of course he did. The sink was running.

            Shion looked for grocery bags when the man walked in sight of the doorway, but Nezumi was holding nothing.

            He stopped momentarily at the doorway of the bathroom, looking at Shion, then stepped forward, first turning off the faucet, then crouching beside Shion.

            “What are you doing?” Nezumi asked.

            Shion noted Nezumi sounded very calm. He couldn’t be sure whether this was a good sign or not.

            “Washing my hair and wound. Head wounds are worse than they appear,” Shion replied, blurting out this last fact, this important fact – had he told Nezumi this essential fact the night before? He couldn’t remember.

            “Why are you on the floor?” Nezumi asked, making no comment about the important fact Shion had offered him, not looking relieved at all despite the good news of it.

            “I needed a break.”

            “Why?”

            “I felt dizzy,” Shion replied. He was not ashamed of his pain. It was nothing major. Nothing he needed to hide.

            “How do you feel now?” Nezumi asked, robotic, Shion realized.

            Shion swallowed. “Better. I’ll continue in a minute.”

            “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

            “It’s best to clean the wound. Then I’ll rewrap it. I’ll need more bandages. The ones you used are ruined.”

            “You don’t want my help?” Nezumi asked, voice smooth as the flat of his eyes.

            Shion looked at him for a moment. “It’s all right, Nezumi. I’ve got it,” Shion said gently, even though he did want to feel Nezumi’s fingers in his hair, thought they might make him dizzy but only in the good way, not the way that made Shion feel nauseous, not the way that made Shion’s legs shake.

            “I’ll get the bandage,” Nezumi replied, and Shion nodded, watching Nezumi get up, walk back out the bathroom.

            Shion stood up a second after Nezumi was gone. Returned to the sink, turned the faucet back on, made sure the water was again lukewarm, and continued what he’d started, washing the wound directly now, careful fingers, imagining himself as a patient, imagining himself telling the patient how brave he was being, how great he was doing, almost done now, nearly clean now, there, all done, great job.

            Shion straightened up. His wet hair dripped onto his shoulders, and Shion grabbed a hand towel, ruffled it through the top of his hair, then more carefully ran it through the strands closer to the wound. He avoided the wound completely, and then Nezumi was back, bandage in hand.

            “I can tie – ”

            “I will,” Nezumi interrupted, and his voice was softer now, so Shion lowered his hands, let the man tie his bandage again.

            “More tightly, Nezumi,” Shion said quietly.

            “Like this?”

            “You can go tighter.”

            “Does it hurt?”

            “No. It helps,” Shion replied, and he watched Nezumi’s expression in the mirror, watched the focus of his best friend as Nezumi wrapped Shion’s head in the bandage, watched those graceful fingers fumble over themselves, clumsy all of a sudden.

            When the bandage was wrapped, Nezumi dropped his hands, and Shion turned to face him.

            “Thank you.”

            “How’s your shoulder?”

            “It doesn’t hurt. Nothing more than a sprain, it’ll heal quickly.”

            “I kept trying to wake you last night, but you kept falling back asleep,” Nezumi said.

            “That’s all right. If I had a concussion, it was mild. No permanent damage.”

            “That’s good,” Nezumi said, softly.

            “It is good, Nezumi,” Shion reassured.

            Nezumi didn’t say anything for a moment, then, “Are you hungry?”

            Shion smiled, nodded, followed Nezumi into the kitchen, where Nezumi instructed Shion to sit.

            Shion watched Nezumi pull ingredients out of the fridge. Assumed he must have sent a guard to get them, as he hadn’t known Nezumi had gone to the grocers.

            As he cooked, Nezumi talked. About nothing, really. The weather. Some policies the council had been discussing with him. The play he had that night, a bit of usual complaining about his manager, a side note on an influx of new cast members.

            “They don’t care about theater. They care about the prince,” Nezumi said, as if he wasn’t the prince himself.

            Shion understood these new cast members. Prince or not, if Shion hadn’t known Nezumi, he might have auditioned at the theater too, even before he grew a passion for it. Simply to stand next to Nezumi. To talk with him. To watch him act, so up close.

            Shion didn’t say anything, not because he knew Nezumi would tease him for it, but because he was watching Nezumi carefully. Found something off about the man, couldn’t quite name it.

            Nezumi was talking casually. Gestures graceful as usual as he cooked. Glanced at Shion every once in a while –

            That was it. Nezumi would look in Shion’s direction, as if addressing him, but Shion noticed he never actually made eye contact.

            Shion began to stare the man down. Attempted to force him into eye contact, just to prove he was imagining things, but the longer he stared, the clearer it came that Nezumi was not looking at him at all.

            Shion stood up from his chair. Walked to the island where the stove was, stared across it at Nezumi, who was sautéing vegetables in a pan.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi glanced up. Looked at Shion, finally, no avoidance at all, casual as anything, and Shion blinked, confused, wondering if he was going crazy.

            “You should sit.”

            “What’s going on?” Shion asked, certain there was something, there had to be something.

            “It’s almost done,” Nezumi replied.

            Shion touched the bruise on his face, then realized what he was doing and dropped his hand.

            “Where were you this morning?”

            “Making an announcement.” Nezumi added salt to the vegetables.

            “What announcement?”

            “Do you want pepper in it?”

            “Nezumi. What announcement?” Shion asked again, and Nezumi glanced back up at him.

            “I accepted the proposal from the princess of our neighboring kingdom.” Nezumi’s tone was light, like he was talking about his cast members, like he was complaining about his manager, like he was noting that it was warmer today than it had been in three days.

            “What?” Shion asked, after a moment.

            “I only spoke with her father this morning, and then our kingdom to make the announcement of our wedding date. Her father informed me that she would like to meet me tonight,” Nezumi supplied, like he was talking about how he didn’t like one of the lines in his plays, like he was noting that the grocers had a sale on onions today.

            “Nezumi – What are you saying?”

            “The wedding is in seven days. Both kingdoms are invited, of course, but I think it would be best if you did not come,” Nezumi added, as though he was asking Shion if he would like cauliflower with his broccoli, if he wanted pepper in it.

            “Nezumi, you’re not getting married,” Shion said.

            Nezumi had no change in expression. Light as anything. Casual as anything.

            “I would like you not to come, Shion. I think you can understand that.”

            “Under—Understand? You think I can understand any of this?”

            “You should sit down. You’re paling.”

            “Let me guess,” Shion said, trying to keep calm, fully aware that shouting would not help the faintness – and he had to grip the counter to keep standing – “you think that what happened to me was your fault. That the kingdom is after me because they think we have a relationship, so your solution is to give in, to give them what they want, not to fight back but to bend to their will and follow that stupid tradition so they leave me alone, is that what you’re doing?”

            Nezumi raised his eyebrows, as if this conversation was like any other argument, as if teasing was appropriate, as if anything less than shouting was acceptable. “Yes, Shion, that is what I am doing.”

            “You can’t do that!” Shion spluttered.

            “Please sit down.”

            “How can you marry someone else? What is going to happen to us?” Shion demanded, shouting now because he couldn’t help it, and his head injury was nothing major anyway, he would be fine, he would be fine.

            “We’ll be friends as we always were, Shion. Calm down, please. There’s no need to shout.”

            “Friends? Just friends? You’re in love with me, and you said you always were! I’m in love with you, and I always have been! We’re not just friends, Nezumi, we’ve never been just friends,” Shion said, leaning further across the island, clenching his hands tighter around the counter.

            Nezumi turned the stove off. Walked around the island to Shion. Took Shion’s hand, and Shion let him, did not protest when Nezumi pulled him back to sit at the kitchen table because Shion had no energy to protest, could hardly stop himself from collapsing against Nezumi.

            Nezumi let go of Shion’s hand, sat at the seat next to his.

            “All right. You’re sitting. You can get it out now.”

            “I’m not getting anything out, Nezumi, I’m telling you the truth. Since when did you roll over and do whatever people wanted? Especially when they threatened you? Since when didn’t you fight back?” Shion asked, leaning against the table, convincing himself that it wasn’t over, Nezumi could change his mind, call back the king of the neighboring kingdom, make another announcement to their own kingdom.

            “Nobody threatened me, Shion. They threatened you,” Nezumi replied, easily.

            “How is that any different?” Shion demanded.

            “Stop shouting, Your Majesty.”

            “I’m not going to let you do this,” Shion warned.

            “If you want to believe you have any say in this, that’s fine,” Nezumi replied.

            “I’m serious. I’m not letting you ruin both of our lives.”

            “The food is getting cold,” Nezumi commented, and Shion gritted his teeth.

            “I’m not hungry.”

            “A hunger strike? That’s your strategy?”

            Shion clenched and unclenched his fists. “You are not the man I fell in love with. You are not the man who has been my best friend for over fourteen years. Because the Nezumi I know wouldn’t do this. The Nezumi I know wouldn’t be such a coward.”

            Nezumi tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear. “Well, then, that takes care of that. If I’m no longer the Nezumi you know, then my marriage to the princess shouldn’t be so hard on you, now should it?” he asked, and then he stood up, walked to the pan, but Shion refused to be served this food, to pretend that everything was all right.

            Shion got up, walked into the living room to grab his coat off the couch, walked to the front door to grab his shoes which Nezumi must have taken off of him, had his hand on the front door, ready to leave.

            “Shion.”

            Shion turned at the hand on his wrist, looked up at the man who loved him, Nezumi loved him – how could he do this?

            “You shouldn’t walk home right now. You should rest. Eat something. Let your body heal. It would be stupid to storm out of here right now in some childish fit.”

            Shion wished Nezumi had kissed him instead. Wished Nezumi had just shut up, had just pulled Shion’s wrist, had forced him not to leave, had not offered these words in this casual voice because his concern for Shion’s body meant nothing, when he was so easily breaking Shion’s heart.

            “I can’t be around you right now.”

            “Go in a different room, then,” Nezumi replied, instead of saying he was sorry, instead of saying he understood, instead of saying this decision he had made was hurting him too, was not so easy that he could look at him so lightly, talk to him so simply, react so casually.

            Maybe Nezumi thought this was necessary. He was wrong, but Shion could understand that, how sometimes the wrong decision seemed the best, how sometimes it was hard to think when the other was involved.

            But Shion could not understand this. This mask Nezumi put on, this act he was doing, as if accepting the princess’s proposal hardly mattered, as if this wasn’t a big deal, as if nothing was wrong, as if Shion was the ridiculous one, for feeling anything at all.

            Shion shook his head, opened the door, and Nezumi’s grip slipped off his wrist too easily as Shion let himself out, waiting for Nezumi to reach out for him, to call him back, to follow him.

            But Nezumi never did.

*


	7. Chapter 7

The kingdom, including Shion, started a countdown.

            On Seven Days to the Royal Wedding, Shion watched his mother try to keep herself from crying over the state of him, as he walked back into the bakery. He mostly kept to his room, looking out the window as the kingdom began their seven days of celebration. The lights and decorations hadn’t been taken down from houses and shop fronts since the festival, but now they were added to.

            Shion watched as the day of the bustling kingdom slowly reached night. It was the first night of fireworks, and Shion looked up at them, felt as they burned his eyes but refused to look away.

            On Six Days to the Royal Wedding, Shion woke late, shaken by his mother. She had brought him food that he could not stomach. Today, he closed the blinds of his window, but he could still hear the celebration from the other side of the glass, as well as downstairs, where joyous customer came in for baked goods and gossip about the preparations that were being made for the royal wedding.

            On Five Days to the Royal Wedding, Shion opened his blinds again. Took root again beside the window, this time not looking at the people below but in the direction of the castle, waiting to see the prince walking to the bakery.

            Surely, the prince would come soon. Nezumi would find Shion, tell Shion his decision was a mistake, the wedding was off, and he was about to make an announcement to the entire kingdom.

            Shion kept the window open a crack, just in case. Just in case the cheerful voices and laughter slipping through suddenly turned somber, and Shion would know that the wedding had been called off by a prince who was in love with someone else, had no business marrying the princess of the neighboring kingdom.

            On Four Days to the Royal Wedding, Shion called the castle. Nobody picked up.

            Shion did not stay up to watch the fourth night of fireworks. He went to bed and closed his eyes, wishing he couldn’t see the flashes of light against the dark of his eyelids.

            On Three Days to the Royal Wedding, Karan asked Shion to leave the house. Just once. Walk around, get fresh air, go to the castle, talk to Nezumi, just talk to him.

            Shion left the house. He did not go to the castle. He went to the flower shop, stood in front of the many full bouquets of different flowers, all beautiful, all bursting with color. Shion listened to the flower shop owner telling a customer that he had been commissioned to grow a special bouquet of silver roses for the bride herself, as she walked down the aisle. That was why he was not selling silver roses today. They were to be saved for the Royal Wedding itself, the happiest event the kingdom would celebrate since before the massacre of the Silver Royals.

            Shion turned around and walked home. He didn’t want fresh air. He wanted the stale air of his room, the comfort of the walls, the knowledge that this would be the first place Nezumi looked for Shion when he came by to tell Shion the wedding was off – and Nezumi would come, Nezumi would come.

            On Two Days to the Royal Wedding, Shion went to the castle.  His bruise no longer held tints of purple or blue. It was a sickly green, but less noticeable on his face. His head no longer throbbed with movement. He was healing, he knew, and it made no sense for him to feel worse by the passing moment.

            He wanted to stop feeling worse. Left his room, left the bakery, walked slowly on the path that was too familiar now. The crowd was huge in front of the castle, people already camped out, counting down the minutes now, until the wedding day.

            Shion fought through the crowd, careful with his sprained shoulder. He made it up to the front of the crowd, looked for the guard that knew him, who would let him in.

            The guard was not in sight. Shion dipped under the rope separating the crowd from the castle steps, dodged the guards that were patrolling, and ran to the castle door.

            Pounded against it. Shouted Nezumi’s name. Waited for a response, felt as though his whole life depended on a response.

            There were hands of the guards on Shion’s clothes, his limbs, his shoulders, pulling him back. Shion fought them, kicked the door, yelled louder. He only needed to talk to Nezumi. He should not have waited until two days before the royal wedding, but he’d only wanted his bruise to fade, he’d only wanted to heal enough so that Nezumi could see nothing had been wrong in the first place, Shion had been barely hurt, Nezumi was overreacting.

            Shion was escorted by a guard outside castle grounds. He ran back the moment he was let go, and was caught and escorted out again, this time further away. Shion tried to run back again, but his head was throbbing, and he needed to rest, so he sat on a sidewalk and breathed deeply.

            Then he turned back home.

            On One Day to the Royal Wedding, Karan knocked on Shion’s room door. Shion replied that he was not hungry. She called softly that he had a visitor.

            There was only one person who would visit Shion.

            He sat up, blearily, not having slept well for six nights. He watched his door open, didn’t say anything when a man in a trench coat walked in, closed the door behind him, pulled off the trench coat.

            “I washed the thing three times, and it’s still itchy,” Nezumi commented.

            “You can’t do this.”

            “The guards told me you came by yesterday.”

            “Nezumi, you won’t do this. Tell me you’ve called off the wedding.”

            Nezumi walked over, sat on the edge of Shion’s bed. “What would you like me to do?”

            Shion blinked at him. “Don’t marry the princess.”

            “Then what?”

            “Be with me.”

            “What about the stalkers? Kill them? I don’t know who they are. Have everyone killed? Or just tortured until someone confesses?” Nezumi asked, looking at Shion evenly.

            Shion felt as though he could hardly breathe. “No, that’s not – We’ll figure it out. Give me time, I’ll figure it out.”

            “I’ll do it. Ask me, tell me this is what you want, and I’ll have everyone in this goddamn kingdom lit on fire. Then we can be together,” Nezumi replied, and Shion saw the hardness of Nezumi’s eyes, thought that this man really meant it, what he was saying.

            Shion swallowed. “I don’t want that. You don’t have to do any of that. No one will hurt me again.”

            “Not if they’re dead.”

            “Nezumi, stop saying that.”

            “What would you like me to do then?”

            “Just call off the wedding. We can fix this, you just need to stop thinking like this. It’s not either or, you don’t have to get married or have everyone killed, there are other options.”

            “What are they?”

            “I need to think! Nezumi, I can’t think right now, but I’ll figure it out, you need to trust me,” Shion insisted, leaning closer, catching onto the hem of Nezumi’s shirt with his hands, holding the cloth tight in his fists.

            He wouldn’t let go.

            “I do. But I don’t trust this kingdom,” Nezumi replied, gently putting his hands over Shion’s, unfolding each finger like it was easy, like Shion wasn’t clutching as tightly as he could.

            When Nezumi freed himself, he stood up from Shion’s bed.

            “Why did you come here then?” Shion demanded, looking up at his friend, at this man he loved, at this man who loved him, Shion swore this man loved him. “You must have wanted to tell me you’d call it off. You must not want to do this.”

            “Of course I don’t,” Nezumi replied, sighing, like he was tired. Not like he was angry. Not like he was going to fight. Like he had given up, and Shion didn’t recognize him, didn’t know who this was, breaking Shion so easily. “I came to see you, Your Majesty. You called for me yesterday, so I came.”

            Shion leaned forward. “Don’t leave.”

            “Don’t come tomorrow,” Nezumi said.

            “Don’t get married.”

            “I am asking you not to come to the wedding, Shion. Tell me that you won’t.”

            “You’re not going to marry her! This is crazy, Nezumi, do you even know what you’re doing – ” Shion shouted, and Nezumi bent down, put a finger over Shion’s lips.

            “Please do not come, Your Majesty,” he whispered, and then he took his finger from Shion’s lips, and then he turned, and then he grabbed his trench coat from the floor, and then he walked away, out Shion’s door, closing it behind him.

            Shion closed his eyes. He wanted to fight for this man, but he was tired, so extremely tired, and he laid back down, fell back asleep despite the cheering outside his window from the kingdom that had begun its twenty-four-hour countdown.

*

On the morning of the royal wedding, Shion went downstairs. Made breakfast in the kitchen. The bakery was closed that day, as were all other shops. Everyone in the kingdom as well as the neighboring kingdom was attending this wedding; it would be taking place on the castle grounds. The princess would be moving into the castle, leaving her own kingdom to become part of the Silver Royals, as was tradition.

            While Shion toasted a slice of bread, unsure he could stomach anything else, Karan came downstairs in a dress.

            _You look beautiful,_ Shion opened his mouth to say, but instead what came out was, “You’re going?” His voice cracked the same time that the toaster popped.

            Karan walked across the kitchen to him. Took his hands in hers even though he had been reaching out to take his toast from the toaster.

            “You should come.”

            “He doesn’t want me to.”

            “Nezumi doesn’t know what he wants,” Karan replied softly.

            Shion looked away from her. “I can’t go, Mom.”

            “Shion. You know he’s always loved you. I’ve watched you boys love each other for a long time. When he came by yesterday, when he asked me if he could see you – He’s always cared about you more than I think you ever realized, honey. That hasn’t changed.”

            Shion looked back at his mother. Knew she thought these words could help, but what use were they?

            “He’s still marrying her, Mom. How can feelings even matter if they don’t make a difference? If they don’t mean enough to him to change anything?” Shion asked, trying to make his voice hard, but it came out hollow.

            Karan looked at Shion for a moment, then let go of his hands only to hug him.

            Shion stood stiffly, then sank into his mother. He waited for her to whisper something in his ear that might fix everything.

            Instead, she gave him a small squeeze and let him go. When she turned away from him, Shion wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in the cool of the morning.

*

During the Royal Wedding, Shion left the bakery. He walked not towards the castle, but everywhere else. Every other member of the kingdom, it seemed, had gone to the wedding, and so Shion had the rest of the kingdom to himself.

            He could, theoretically, do anything, he thought to himself, as he looked around the empty street.

            He tried to think of something he’d always wanted to do. Something that the eyes of others had stopped him from.

            But Shion could think of nothing. Nothing he wanted that he could have, at that moment. He walked down the street, to the grocers, past the flower shop, along the sidewalk of the theater. And then he turned back. He returned to the bakery. His path was outlined by streamers, flower petals, colorful lanterns. They continued along, past the bakery, leading, Shion knew, to the castle. To where the princess might at that moment be walking on her own path, down the long aisle to her groom.

            Shion stood with his hand on the door of the bakery, imagining Nezumi standing at the end of the aisle, watching the princess walk towards him. He couldn’t picture Nezumi’s face. Couldn’t imagine what expression Nezumi might have when the princess reached him, a bouquet of silver roses in her hands.

            Shion wondered if Nezumi would take her hands, after the bouquet was handed off to another member of the wedding party. Wondered if Nezumi’s palms would be warm, if just the tips of his fingers would be cool, if she would flinch at his touch or smile at it, wishing the wedding would be over so that his fingerprints could tattoo the rest of her skin.

            Shion closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about this. Didn’t want to think about the words Nezumi might recite, as per tradition, the vows exchanged and the kingdoms fused into companionship by this marriage. Didn’t want to think about Nezumi taking his hands from hers to lift the veil from the princess’s face. Didn’t want to think about the words she would say to him, and how he would watch her, maybe look at her lips as the syllables were shaped, maybe look into her eyes.      

            Would she look up at him? Or keep her gaze down, so that Nezumi could only see the soft fluttering of her eyelashes?

            Would he even look at her? Or keep his eyes on their hands, thinking hers looked so small in his, wrapped in his long fingers, curled against his pale skin.

            Would he whisper when he said, _I do_? Would his voice drop, or rise? Would he speak confidently, the way he did on stage, projecting to the entirety of their two kingdoms with a certainty they would believe? And why shouldn’t they?

            Nezumi was an amazing actor.

            Shion wondered if the princess would be fooled. Would think that Nezumi loved her when Nezumi told her he did – would he even tell her at all?

            Shion could not imagine those three words, wrapped in the cool of Nezumi’s voice. No, Nezumi would speak those words in other ways, in other gestures – would he do so for the princess? Would she believe him? Would she understand that it meant love, when Nezumi stole bites of cake off her plate and laughed without remorse when she caught him?

            Would she understand that it meant everything, when Nezumi looked at her with narrowed eyes, quiet eyes, told her she was absolutely crazy, told her she thought too much about little things, told her he couldn’t get her voice out of his head, even when he slept?

            Would she understand that it meant forever, when Nezumi taught her to dance, told her she was too clumsy, it would do her good – would she understand that Nezumi only wanted an excuse to feel her warmth, to hold her hand, to feel the pressure of her cheek against his shoulder?

            Shion curled his fingers tight around the handle of the bakery door. Looked down the path to the castle as if he could see it all, could see the request for the husband to kiss his bride, could see Nezumi lean in – or would the princess be the one who leant? Would she lift herself up, not quite to her tiptoes, but enough to meet this man who was a couple inches taller, had had his growth spurt a few months later than her, but still managed to surpass her one hot summer in their early teens?

            Would he touch her cheek with just the pad of his thumb, somehow more intimate than the touch of their lips, somehow more lasting, somehow more consuming?

            Would the princess’s heart beat too fast, or would it be calm, steady, as if her body knew that finally she was where she belonged, she did not have to look anywhere else, she did not have to wonder any more, she did not have to wait any longer. Here was this man she belonged with, here was his thumb on her cheek, here were his lips, the warmth slipping into her mouth, skating along her tongue and trickling down her throat, pooling into the corners of her veins, getting caught in the crosshatched tangles of her tissues.

            Shion knew it was an act, to Nezumi. Had seen the man kiss actors and actresses on stage, had seen him fall in love many times, both in grand gestures and quietly, in a secret that only the keenest of the audience were privy to.

            This wedding to this princess was nothing more than another play, just a part of Nezumi’s job, what he had to do, and Shion reminded himself of this, that he had no reason to be upset, the man was doing no more than he had to do, no more than he’d always done.

            But this was not a scene that would last another minute. This was not an act that would finish in half an hour. This was not a role that Nezumi could shed before the sun set.

            This was forever – wasn’t it?

            And Shion could not help but wonder if forever would be enough time – too much time – for Nezumi to start believing his own act, the way he managed to trick his audience into believing his performance on stage, every time, inevitably.

*


	8. Chapter 8

Shion could not lie in bed. He did not want to think about the wedding night as tradition had it, and so he decided to trick himself into thinking it wasn’t night. Kept his lights on. The blinds closed to hide the darkness of the sun’s retirement. He kept on his jeans and shirt and even his shoes. He sat at his desk with a cup of coffee and drank it to the very end, keeping himself alert as if he could fool himself into believing it was the peak of day.

            He read his textbooks, his favorite parts of them, not the parts that would coax him to sleep but the parts that would have his mind whirring with this knowledge that only birthed in him more questions, more curiosity.

            He would usually express these comments, these questions, to the man stretched on his bed flicking through Shakespeare, or pacing his room, reciting lines. But today, Shion read quietly in his empty room, occasionally speaking only out of habit before the silence in return reminded him that he was alone.

            Shion made this mistake only a handful of times before he was making it again, questioning the logistics of the amygdala, when he actually received an answer.

            “Have you not graduated yet, Your Majesty?”

            Shion spun around, barely avoiding knocking over his empty mug of coffee from the corner of his desk.

            Nezumi stood a step into his doorway, throwing his trench coat on Shion’s bed, running fingers through his flattened bangs that must have been plastered by his hood.

            “Nezumi?”

            His friend was not dressed in wedding attire. He wore a t-shirt and jeans, and he slipped his hands into the pockets of them after gently closing Shion’s door behind him.

            Nezumi nodded at him. “Are you still studying?”

            Shion thought if either of the two had the right to ask questions, it was he, but Shion couldn’t think of what question to ask first, and to answer Nezumi’s was much simpler.

            “I graduated. I’m reading for pleasure.”

            “The amygdala gives you pleasure?” Nezumi asked, lips quirking.

            Shion couldn’t help but smile back. “It does, actually. In the simplest sense, at least, where it is the source for many central functions, including emotion.”

            Nezumi walked forward. Was in front of Shion now, suddenly, and Shion was standing, suddenly, and he’d never felt more awake, suddenly, more certain that it wasn’t night at all.

            Nezumi reached out. Touched Shion’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, and Shion closed his eyes because he knew what was supposed to come next, what wouldn’t come next because Nezumi was married, but he wanted to imagine it anyway.

            Imagine the warmth of Nezumi’s lips on his, the way it would trickle, pool, tangle.

            And when he felt this warmth, he wasn’t sure if it was only his imagination, if he was so desperate for this past life that his brain had tricked himself into feeling, into tangibility.

            But when Shion opened his eyes, curious as to his own mind’s desperation to solidify what was only in his head, he saw that Nezumi was in fact kissing him, was so close that his face was blurry, his eyelashes and the bridge of his nose swimming too largely in Shion’s vision for Shion to really make them out.

            And for a moment, Shion thought maybe the prince had not gotten married, was so amazed by this possibility he hadn’t let himself previously entertain that even when he saw the ring on Nezumi’s finger, it did not register for a few seconds.

            When the truth did register, Shion stepped back, the opposite reaction to Nezumi kissing him than he had ever had so that his movement was jerky, his body reluctant to put more distance between himself and his friend.

            “You can’t kiss me,” Shion said, surprised that his voice had even found its way out of his lips, had not gotten caught in the squeeze of his chest. “You’re married.”

            Nezumi looked at Shion like he used to, before everything had been ruined. Too deeply, eyes too heavy, the silver of them bright like lightning. “That’s an act. This is real,” Nezumi said, like it was simple, and Shion wanted more than anything to pretend that this was simple, that this wasn’t hard and didn’t hurt.

            And so he let Nezumi kiss him again, let Nezumi take his hand, lead him to Shion’s bed, do more than kiss him again.

            Shion acted like nothing else mattered but the warmth of Nezumi’s skin, returned against his own. He thought, vaguely, that he must have picked up on some acting skills after watching so many of Nezumi’s plays, as he almost fooled himself with his own act.

            He almost began to feel whole again, as sweat pooled his skin, left in the wake of this man he loved, this man that loved him – that was enough, that had to be enough.

*

Shion was woken by Nezumi and didn’t mind. Didn’t mind the snake of Nezumi’s legs over his own, didn’t mind the trickle of Nezumi’s fingers on his thigh, didn’t mind the pressure of Nezumi’s lips along his shoulder.

            Shion did not know what time it was and did not want to. He wanted only now, more of now, kissed Nezumi deeply, rose to Nezumi’s touch, back arching and hands reaching and –

            “Shion?”

            At the sound of his mother’s call, accompanied by her light knock on his door, Nezumi froze but Shion did not.

            Instead, Shion pushed the man off of him, off of the bed entirely.

            “Ow, shit, what the – ”

            “Shh!” Shion said, peeking over the bed to give Nezumi a stern glare and cut off the man’s disgruntled hiss.

            A moment later, Shion had straightened up, blanket pulled to his neck, and the door opened.

            “Oh. You’re awake,” Karan said.

            “Hi, Mom.”

            “Hi, honey. It’s midday, and you haven’t come down. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

            “I’m okay,” Shion replied, hastily, pulling his blanket up further, not remembering if Nezumi had sucked too hard on the skin of his neck, hard enough to leave a mark.

            “Shion, honey – ”

            “Hi, Karan.”

            Shion nearly cracked his neck, turning to look at Nezumi, who had sat up so that the top of his bare shoulders and head were visible above the bed.

            “Nezumi?” Karan asked, blinking.

            Shion had some inclination to interject, but did not know what he could say.

            “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind that I used the copy of the key you gave me to come in and see Shion last night,” Nezumi offered, smiling at Shion’s mother.

            “Of course that’s all right,” Karan said, collecting herself, though Shion could still see the confusion in the crease between her eyebrows. “You are always welcome here, Nezumi. This is your home too.”

            “Thank you, Karan.”

            “Um, Mom, can you – Can you give us a second? I need to talk to Nezumi about something,” Shion cut in, unsure he could stand any more of this casual conversation, and Karan just looked at him for a second before nodding.

            “Of course, honey,” she said, and then she was gone, the door closed, and Shion glared at Nezumi.

            “Why did you do that?” he demanded.

            “What did I do? If you recall, you were the one who shoved me off the bed. A little rude of you,” Nezumi replied, standing up, and Shion did not let himself get distracted from the sight of this man, reminded himself that he had seen Nezumi naked many times now, no need to get off track.

            “I didn’t want my mom to see you! I don’t want her to know you’re here! That we’re doing – Whatever this is!” Shion objected, angry at his friend who looked extremely calm, despite the recent events.

            “Why not? Are you ashamed of me?” Nezumi asked, smirking, and it was clear that he was joking, but Shion did not understand why he was not serious.

            “Yes,” Shion replied, voice hard. “I am ashamed of you, Nezumi. And I’m ashamed of myself. You’re married. Where is the princess, anyway? Where does she think you’ve gone?”

            “I don’t have to give the princess my whereabouts at all times,” Nezumi replied, pulling his hair up into a ponytail. “Don’t be so dramatic, Shion. I got married to satisfy the kingdom of their stupid tradition. It doesn’t mean anything.”

            “It might mean something to her!” Shion objected, finally realizing what he’d done.

            He’d slept with a married man. He’d taken advantage of the princess who did not know her husband did not care for her, who was probably wondering where he had gone on the first night of their marriage.

            Nezumi squinted at Shion. “Why the hell do you care about her?”

            “She’s still a person, Nezumi. She has feelings. She got married thinking it was real.”

            “And she’s wrong.”

            “That doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want!”

            “And what do you propose I do, Your Majesty? Go home? Confess to my wife that I slept with you? I have responsibilities, Shion. Not everything revolves around you. I can’t just go around doing whatever will make you happy. This is life. Lying. Acting. Doing what you aren’t always comfortable with, what won’t always match up to your perfect moral compass – that’s a part of living,” Nezumi lectured, angry, but Shion was angrier.

            “I don’t need a lesson from you, Nezumi. You can’t just be married and think we can stay as we were. I can’t do that, I can’t pretend that will be enough.”

            “Oh, pardon me for forgetting you’re used to getting exactly what you want and don’t know how to deal with any less,” Nezumi snapped, shaking his head, weaving his fingers into his bangs and jerking on them before letting go. “This is what we’ve got, Shion. I’m the prince now, and I’ve got to act that way, and I’m not going to be sorry to you for it. If you want nothing to do with me, fine, make yourself miserable. But if this is what you want, then it’s going to be like this. It’s going to be sneaking around. It’s going to be me cheating on my wife and you being a part of that. If you can’t deal with that, I don’t know what to tell you, Shion. I can’t give you a happy ending, and I never said I would.”

            “So you want me to be okay with you going home and being with your wife, then coming here whenever it’s convenient for you? You want me to wait for you my entire life, Nezumi? That’s okay with you?”

            “Who gives as shit if it’s okay? What the hell makes you think we’re so special that we deserve to be okay with everything that happens to us? Just learn to fucking deal with it, Shion, and stop complaining,” Nezumi said, sounding fed up, as if he was the one with the reason to be pissed.

            Shion shook his head, pressed his hands to his eyes, dropped them. “Did you kiss her, Nezumi? Before you came here, did you – did you – ?”

            Nezumi sighed loudly, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know you’re not asking me to reassure you that I haven’t fallen for the princess. Don’t be so stupid, Shion. Sex is nothing. It has no ties to emotion, that’s just bullshit people convince themselves of to make such an animal act fit in with their delicate sensibilities.”

            “Then what are you here for? If sex is nothing, what are you doing here?” Shion shouted.

            Nezumi stared at him. “You’re kidding me, right?”

            Shion ignored Nezumi’s incredulous expression. “I can’t do this. I won’t do this, Nezumi. It isn’t enough for me, and it doesn’t make me spoiled to want more than what you’re offering. It doesn’t make me naïve to fight for what I want.”

            “I’m not leaving the princess, Shion,” Nezumi warned, slowly.

            Shion stared at him. “Fine. Don’t.”

            “Don’t be childish.”

            “Get out, Nezumi.”

            “So because I can’t hold your hand when we walk to the grocers, you want nothing to do with me?”

            Shion got up from the bed. He was too agitated to keep sitting. He stood on the other side of the mattress, shouted at Nezumi from there. “This isn’t about holding your hand! This is about pretending, Nezumi. I’m not going to pretend that it’s okay that you got married.”

            “I don’t see you pretending. You’ve been throwing a fit for the last ten minutes.”

            “I’m not going to pretend that our lives are a joke!”

            “I wouldn’t ask you to,” Nezumi replied, easily, and Shion wished he was on the other side of the bed so that he could punch Nezumi in the face, feel the relaxed expression of this man disintegrate under his knuckles.

            “Get out of my house, Nezumi!”

            “Your mother will hear if you keep shouting.”

            “You said if I didn’t want anything to do with you, that was fine with you. If that’s true, then leave,” Shion dared, wanting Nezumi to stay, to keep arguing with him, to get angrier, to shout louder, to hurt him more.

            Anything but walk out that door. Anything but leave.

            Nezumi looked at Shion for a moment. Shion was certain Nezumi could see the desperation on Shion’s face for this man to stay. Nezumi always said he could read Shion’s expressions like a book. Shion counted on that, that his friend would know what he wanted, would stay despite Shion’s words, despite Shion’s lies.

            Instead, Nezumi gathered his clothes from the floor and pulled them on swiftly. Walked around the bed. Grabbed his coat from where it had fallen on the floor. Walked out Shion’s door for what seemed like the hundredth time, the thousandth time, and Shion closed his eyes, sick of watching this man leave, sick of finding himself alone in his room again, again, again.

*

Shion had been planning on finding a job at a doctor’s office or clinic in order to make money for med school before attending. These plans seemed far off, forgotten, in the events of the last weeks, but Shion reminded himself of them after the royal wedding, decided it might help take his mind off things.

            He began working towards his future. Realized he could not stall any longer, it was no use to wait for a man who clearly had not waited for him.

            While Shion set up interviews at the local doctor’s office, he worked in the bakery. Ignored the talk of the people, and found it easy to tune out the rest of the cheerful kingdom. If he tried, he could block out the rest of the world, go about his actions robotically, and so he did this, only realizing what he was doing when his mother touched his arm, two days after Shion kicked Nezumi out of his room.

            “Honey?”

            Shion blinked at his mother, focusing on her. “Yeah?”

            “I’ve been calling your name for two minutes. You didn’t hear me?”

            Shion shook his head. He saw the worry in his mother’s features, thought he should say something to lessen this worry, but nothing came to mind.

            “I haven’t seen Nezumi in a while,” Karan said. She hadn’t made any mention of him since she’d walked in on them.

            Shion shrugged. “He’s busy now,” was all he said, and Karan left it at that.

            Shion didn’t know when he would see Nezumi again. Maybe never, but that idea was so difficult to imagine that Shion didn’t bother.

            He was tired of imagining things. Reality was not much better, but it was all Shion had, and hadn’t Nezumi told Shion time and time again that he had to stop living with his head in the clouds?

            But Shion didn’t have too wait long to have his question answered as to when he would see Nezumi again, as Nezumi showed up only the day after Karan asked about him.

            It was late, and Shion was in bed, had just finished showering and re-bandaging his arm. He no longer bandaged his head wound, as it had quickly healed, proving Shion’s suspicions that it was only skin deep. His black eye was gone completely now, but Shion hardly noticed, hadn’t looked in the mirror in a while.

            He heard the light tap on his door and assumed it was his mother.

            “It’s open,” he called, sitting up.

            Nezumi walked in.

            Shion stared at the prince, who closed the door behind him, came to sit on the edge of Shion’s bed. He was so surprised to see Nezumi so soon after their fight that he could think of nothing at all to say to the man, which was good, as Nezumi asked him not to just a moment later.

            “Don’t say anything.”

            Shion blinked. He realized he’d forgotten to turn off the light before coming to bed, but he’d been forgetting lately, falling asleep with the light on for the last few nights, which he’d never been able to do before.

            Nezumi had dark circles under his eyes. He was wearing his trench coat, but the hood was pulled down. He reached out, looked as if he were going to touch Shion’s cheek, then took back his hand.

            “Do you know why I accepted my role as the prince?” Nezumi asked, after another moment.

            Shion pulled in his legs so that he was sitting cross-legged. “You wanted a change,” he echoed, remembering what Nezumi had said. “To get away from me, I think, because you didn’t know that I loved you back.”

            Nezumi looked away from Shion. “That was part of the reason.”

            “What was the other part?” Shion asked, before he remembered that he was mad at this man, did not want to be talking to this man.

            Nezumi glanced back at him. “I didn’t realize I was the Silver Prince, even after I got the part in the play. Even when people first began accusing me of it, I brushed it off, didn’t believe it. Only when you said it was a possibility was I unable to stop thinking about it, considering it. I have burns on my back, Shion, from the night of the massacre. You’ve seen them. Maybe I knew it was true, but didn’t want to believe it,” Nezumi murmured, softly, and Shion thought about how his mother had told him that if Nezumi was the prince, that would take away any hope he had about finding his family again.

            Shion thought to reach out, but kept his fingers lightly curled in the blanket on his lap. “Do you remember now?”

            “Yes.”

            “Everything?”

            Nezumi took a deep breath. “No. I don’t know. I think I could, if I tried. But I don’t really want to,” Nezumi said, and he spoke so quietly Shion found himself leaning in.

            “Why don’t you want to?” Shion asked, gently.

            “I think…I really loved them, Shion. My parents. My sister. I had a sister, did you know that?” Nezumi asked, and Shion knew that, everyone knew about the Silver Princess who was killed in the fire in the arms of her father.

            “So why did you become the prince, Nezumi?” Shion asked, after a moment of waiting to see if Nezumi would say anything else.

            Nezumi ducked his face into his hand. “It’s stupid to miss people you can hardly remember. Or to want to honor the wishes of people who aren’t even alive. I know it’s stupid.”

            “I don’t think it’s stupid, Nezumi,” Shion offered, reaching out now, wrapping his fingers around Nezumi’s wrist, pulling gently until Nezumi raised his head from his hand.

            “I thought this would be right. That it was what they wanted. But they aren’t my family anymore, they haven’t been for years, you and Karan are, and this isn’t what you want.”

            Shion didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I want you to be happy.”

            Nezumi just looked at Shion, eyes searching his face as if Shion had said something he didn’t understand, couldn’t quite interpret.

            “What do you want, Nezumi?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi looked away again. To the side of Shion, at nothing in particular, then back at Shion again.

            “Can I stay here with you tonight? Just to sleep. Nothing else.”

            Shion wanted to say yes. Wanted to take Nezumi in his arms, hold him close to his chest, like Nezumi was just a child, like Shion could still take care of him as easily as he had that first night they’d met.

            “The princess – ”

            “She knows I’m here,” Nezumi cut in.

            “What?” Shion asked, taken aback.

            “She caught me slipping out. Asked where I went when I took my trench coat. Asked if there was another woman. I asked her what she would do if there was. She told me that she’d heard, before we got married, rumors that I’d been having an affair with one of my subjects.”

            Shion squinted. “You told her it was true?”

            “I asked her if it mattered to her one way or the other.”

            “She said it didn’t?” Shion asked, bewildered. What wife would let Nezumi slip away to anyone else?

            “No. She said she had been in love with a man from her kingdom. One of her subjects. But they’d broken it off for the sake of kingdom tradition when I reclaimed my throne. She told me that she would understand, if I had someone else,” Nezumi replied, slowly.

            Shion sat up straighter. “Is she still with that guy?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “How can you not know? This is your wife!”

            “I haven’t had sex with her, Shion.”

            Shion felt his face heat up. “I didn’t ask you that!”

            Nezumi reached out again, and this time, he cupped his palm around Shion’s cheek. “I never know what you’re thinking. I don’t know what you want me to say. Do you want me to tell you I’m in love with you?” Nezumi asked, hesitantly, and Shion stared at him, thought that he asked this same question what felt like years ago – was it only weeks? Days?

            “I – That’s not – That’s not the problem – ”

            “What is the problem?”

            “You didn’t fight for us!”

            “You don’t know what it’s like, to lose everyone,” Nezumi replied, voice a bit hard now, and he dropped his hand from Shion’s cheek.

            “You weren’t going to lose me,” Shion insisted.

            “No, I wasn’t,” Nezumi agreed.

            Shion closed his eyes, opened them slowly after half a minute. “So, what now? You have an affair with me, while your wife has an affair with someone from her kingdom, and we live the rest of our lives like this?” Shion asked, incredulously.

            “Of course not.”

            “Then what – ”

            “I’m the prince of this kingdom. The king, soon, after the ceremony. I’ll change kingdom law.”

            “You can’t just change the law. The kingdoms are obsessed with tradition.”

            “The princess told me before I left that she knows other royal families from the other kingdoms. It’s just as common a tradition, for royals to have affairs. Turns out kings and queens don’t like to be told what to do or whom to marry. It shouldn’t be too hard to expose this secret, change the way the royal system works.”

            Shion leaned back. “Other royal members are in secret relationships with their subjects?”

            Nezumi raised his eyebrows. “Is it so surprising? Everyone puts on an act, Shion.”

            “But – But it won’t just be so simple to get the royals to admit this stuff!”

            “The princess admitted pretty quickly.”

            “But Nezumi – ”

            “I married the princess to buy myself time. I wasn’t going to have you hurt again in the meantime, while I figured this shit out. I never planned on giving you up, Your Majesty, and I don’t plan on it now, and I don’t particularly care if you argue with me,” Nezumi interrupted, mildly.

            Shion thought about the words Nezumi was saying. “Is that why you didn’t care before?” he asked, after a moment.

            “What?”

            “Why you didn’t even seem upset after you accepted her proposal?”

            “I am upset,” Nezumi replied, sounding somewhat surprised.

            “No, you’re not,” Shion objected.

            Nezumi smiled slightly. “Are you going to argue even about what I’m feeling?”

            “I’ve seen you upset. You haven’t been upset about this marriage.”

            Nezumi laughed, quietly. “There are different kinds of upset, Shion.”

            “And what kind does your completely casual demeanor fall under?” Shion demanded.

            “When you were attacked, it didn’t occur to me to hide my anger. I couldn’t really think, Shion, in those first few hours,” Nezumi noted, as if he was observing someone else’s behavior. “That is the kind of upset I could not conceal under an act.”

            Shion was amazed that Nezumi would admit such a thing. Wondered if Nezumi was forcing himself to do this, to open up even when Shion knew it was difficult for Nezumi. Wondered if Nezumi was making himself do this only in order to gain Shion’s trust again.

            “But when I could prevent you from getting hurt, no matter what I had to do, I was a different kind of upset. Angry at this kingdom, sure, but also…” Nezumi trailed off, lost the lightness of his tone at his last few words.

            “Sad?” Shion offered, thinking of how he felt without Nezumi, how he’d felt the last few days.

            Nezumi’s jaw tightened, then relaxed again. “I guess I learned to hide that well, after the massacre. So well I forgot about it, forgot everything that happened.”

            Shion considered this. Nezumi’s sadness, something he’d known to keep hidden from a young age, something he’d hidden from even Shion.

            “Are you still sad?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi laughed again. “I should have known you’d ask a question like that.”

            “Well, are you?” Shion asked again.

            “Are you going to shove over and give me space on this ridiculously small bed of yours?” Nezumi asked, and Shion smiled.

            “Maybe.”

            “Then maybe, Your Majesty, I’m not still sad,” Nezumi said, teasing, Shion knew, but at the same time maybe the man wasn’t joking at all, and so Shion moved over, let Nezumi slide in next to him, curl his body around Shion’s the instant they both laid down.

            Instead of kissing him, Nezumi pressed his lips against Shion’s shoulder, tightened his fingers around the hem of Shion’s t-shirt. Shion closed his eyes even though the light was still on in his room, not caring at all.

            Shion felt certain that tonight, he would have no trouble falling asleep.

*

When Shion opened the bathroom door after brushing his teeth in the morning, Nezumi stood outside of it, his ponytail loose and slung over his shoulder, a crease in his cheek from the pillow.

            “Morning,” Shion offered.

            “Morning,” Nezumi mumbled, and Shion stepped aside so that Nezumi could walk into the bathroom.

            He went to his bedroom, unsure of what to do, and settled after a minute on sitting on the edge of his bed to wait for Nezumi, who appeared a few minutes later.

            “Hi,” Shion said.

            Nezumi raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to talk to Karan?”

            “About what?” Shion asked, confused.

            “You said you were ashamed of me and of yourself the other day. I don’t want you to work yourself up thinking that your mother thinks any less of you, although I’m sure she never would. She’s definitely not nearly as stupid as you are,” Nezumi commented.

            “I’m sorry I said I was ashamed of you.”

            “You don’t have to apologize, Your Majesty, I’m used to ignoring the shit that comes out of your mouth,” Nezumi said, grinning slightly.

            “Do you have to go back to the castle now?”

            “Are you not going to offer me breakfast? That’s rude. I’m a guest, you know. Royalty, actually.”

            “You have time to stay for breakfast?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi looked at Shion a moment, then stepped closer to him. “Don’t feel as though I have to fit you in between things. You’re not some allotted time slot on my schedule.”

            Shion grinned. “Oh? I’m more important than your princely duties?”

            Nezumi didn’t grin back. “Obviously, Shion,” he said, quite seriously, and Shion bit his lip, then stood up, gave Nezumi a quick kiss on the cheek before turning away, walking out the door.

            “Come on, then!” he called, smiling into his hand as he made his way down the stairs.

            Nezumi met him in the kitchen half a minute later.

            “Why do you keep kissing me on the cheek?” he asked, sounding truly confused.

            Shion placed two plates of scones on the small table, sat on a stool across from Nezumi.

            “Because I like to.”

            Nezumi just shook his head and took a scone.

            “Can I ask you something?” Shion asked.

            “Can I stop you?”

            “Why didn’t you tell me? That you only accepted the proposal to stall, to get you more time to try and change the law? Why didn’t you stop me from leaving the castle that day you told me? Why didn’t you come to see me after I’d left?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi took a sip of the tea Shion had put out for him, then set his mug down. “Because I didn’t want to see you,” he said, simply.

            Shion narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t want to see me?”

            “Nope.”

            “Why not?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi glanced at Shion’s shoulder, and Shion followed his gaze, looked at the bandage he hadn’t adjusted yet for the morning.

            His shoulder was healing, hardly hurt any more. A few more days, a week at most, and Shion figured he wouldn’t need a bandage at all.

            “Do you know what you looked like?” Nezumi asked, voice quiet now, looking away from Shion’s shoulder to the side of the bakery, at nothing at all.

            “You’ve seen me hurt before. Remember that one time I fell off my bike and skinned my knee and chin?” Shion asked.

            “That wasn’t my fault,” Nezumi said, voice tight.

            “Nezumi, what those crazy people did to me wasn’t your fault,” Shion insisted.

            “You have crumbs on your face,” Nezumi said, looking back at Shion now and pointing.

            Shion wiped the back of his hand over his face, wondering if Nezumi was just changing the subject, deciding not to press the point.

            Besides, he had other matters to discuss.

            “What is the princess like?” he asked, and Nezumi lowered his mug again.  

            “She doesn’t ask as many questions as you,” he answered mildly.

            “What else?”

            “Are you worried I’ve fallen for her?” Nezumi asked, lips quirking.

            “Please take me seriously.”

            Nezumi sighed, rested his cheek on his palm. “I don’t pay very much attention to her.”

            “You must know something about her,” Shion insisted. “Like…How does she sleep?”

            Nezumi smiled lazily. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

            “I’m not jealous!”

            “I’ve already told you we haven’t had sex.”

            “I didn’t ask about that, I asked how she sleeps. Is she, you know, restless, or does she hog the blankets, or is she a sleep talker…” Shion rambled, trailing off, taking a large bite of scone to distract himself.

            Nezumi looked at him for another moment, clearly amused. “I wouldn’t know.”

            “Nezumi!” Shion protested, through his bite of scone.

            “Hey, don’t spit. I don’t know because she sleeps in a different room.”

            Shion swallowed, hard, feeling the lump of hardly chewed scone slip slowly down his throat.

            “She does?”

            “Yes, Your Majesty.”

            “You told her to sleep in a different room?”

            “You’re being very nosy for someone who’s not jealous,” Nezumi observed.

            “What would you do if I married someone else?” Shion demanded, defensive.

            “And why would you do that?” Nezumi asked, leaning across the table, grinning.

            “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be wooed by someone who isn’t already married,” Shion replied shortly, crossing his arms over his chest.

            “Wooed?” Nezumi asked, smiling wider.

            “That’s right. If you can fall in love with me, I bet someone else can. I might leave you, you know.”

            Nezumi stood up, taking the empty plates with him, walking around the table to the sink behind Shion and placing them in, and Shion spun on his chair to face the man.

            Before he could say anything else, Nezumi’s lips were nearly against his.

            “You better not,” Nezumi whispered, breath slipping between Shion’s open lips, and Shion felt himself smiling, then felt Nezumi kissing him, kissed back for just a second before pulling away.

            “Nezumi…”

            “Mm?” Nezumi asked, and Shion felt Nezumi’s hands on his waist, felt long fingers slipping up against his skin.

            “You’re still married. I don’t know if – ”

            “Would you like me to stop, Your Majesty?” Nezumi murmured, against Shion’s neck.

            Shion tipped his head, pressed his lips to Nezumi’s hair. “Never,” he whispered, and he could feel Nezumi’s smile against his skin, knew exactly what the lift of Nezumi’s lips felt like, was so happy to know such a thing.

            He let Nezumi take his hand, pull him out the kitchen and back up the stairs into Shion’s room, was already kissing the man again before he could even get the door closed behind them.

*

“Are you asleep?” Shion asked quietly, running his fingers through Nezumi’s hair, which was slightly damp at the roots from sweat.

            “Mm,” Nezumi murmured, fingers rustling against Shion’s skin, voice humming along Shion’s shoulder.

            “What if it doesn’t work? What if you can’t fix this? What if you can’t change the law, didn’t you already say you were just a figurehead? What say do you actually have in the rules of this kingdom, especially rules that have spanned back to the origin of – ”

            “Shion,” Nezumi interrupted, leaning up on his elbow, and Shion’s fingers fell from Nezumi’s hair.

            “And if it does work, these kinds of changes could take years. Are we going to have to stay secret all that time? We’ll end up resenting each other, having to sneak around all the time, live double lives, how do you really think we’ll be able to sustain this when the whole kingdom is probably watching you, maybe even me as well – ”

            “Shion,” Nezumi said, a little more loudly, pressing the tips of his fingers to Shion’s lips.

            Shion looked up at this man he loved, this man who loved him – what if that wasn’t enough? It might not be enough…

            “Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t let you go?” Nezumi asked, softly.

            “We were happy,” Shion whispered, underneath Nezumi’s fingers.

            Nezumi’s gaze was hot, like sunlight. “I still am. Aren’t you?” he asked, slipping his hand from Shion’s lips, trickling his fingers back into Shion’s hair.

            Shion closed his eyes. Felt a press of warmth against his closed eyelids, right and then left.

            How could he not be happy, with Nezumi’s kissing him so softly?

            “I don’t mind lying to everyone else. It’s easy, to pretend for everyone else,” Nezumi offered, and Shion opened his eyes, felt as Nezumi rolled onto him again, legs on either side of his, hips pressing down against him, leaning above Shion on his elbows with his dark hair falling around Shion’s face in a curtain.

            From the moment Shion had found out Nezumi was in love with him, he’d felt as though everything had suddenly gotten harder, more difficult, more complicated.

            Shion realized now that no matter what else had happened since Nezumi’s wayward confession, Nezumi must have felt lighter, better, found that no matter how hard anything else had become, at least there wasn’t this act, at least he didn’t have to pretend about this feeling.

            Shion reached out, ran his palm up from Nezumi’s waist to his chest, loved that he could just touch this man so easily like this, so simply like this.

            “You really love me a lot, don’t you?” Shion asked, smiling, and Nezumi blinked at him, opened his lips, then dropped himself from his elbows without saying anything so that his entire weight was on Shion, who laughed, trying to push him off. “Do you know how heavy you are?”

            “I do, Your Majesty,” Nezumi said, into Shion’s neck, and Shion froze underneath the man, unsure what accusation Nezumi’s confession was in reply to.

             No, that wasn’t right. He knew what Nezumi was confessing, of course he knew, and when Nezumi made to roll back off of him, Shion pulled him back, wanted to feel his friend’s weight on him, wanted to never find himself free of it.

*

A week later, Nezumi was crowned the Silver King, and the princess, the Silver Queen.

            Shion stood amongst the cheering crowd. Just an hour before, he had been helping Nezumi get dressed, as they’d fallen asleep on Shion’s floor, wrapped in blankets that Nezumi had pulled from the bed, too exhausted to simply climb onto the mattress itself.

            Now, Shion was just catching his breath, and he watched the princess reach out, tuck Nezumi’s hair behind his ears, as it was still mussed and scattered underneath his crown.

            Shion thought the man looked good in a crown. Looked good in anything, really, looked better without anything, and he smiled to himself, not minding as the princess – no, the queen – took Nezumi’s hand, as the new king and queen raised their arms together and smiled at their kingdom.

            Why should Shion mind that the new queen had the privilege to hold Nezumi’s hand in this moment, when Shion got all of Nezumi to himself during the nights when Nezumi managed to sneak out, during odd hours of the day that they managed to steal?

            No, Shion did not mind. Did not have any reason to mind, and he reminded himself of this, kept reminding himself of this as the days passed and nothing changed.

            He loved Nezumi, and Nezumi loved him.

            What else mattered?

            Surely not the kiss the new queen pressed to Nezumi’s cheek. Surely not the smile Nezumi returned. Surely not the cheers of the kingdom, who loved their royal couple, who worshipped this age-old tradition.

            No, it didn’t matter, none of this mattered, and Shion stood in the crowd, trying to remember what it felt like to have Nezumi’s hidden smile pressed to his bare shoulder, trying to remember the warmth of it, trying to remember when the last of this warmth that he’d been sure would be permanent had trickled out his bones.

*


	9. Chapter 9

After complaining about always being cooped up in his room, Shion got Nezumi to consent to sitting in the small alley behind the bakery one night, when the moon was hardly a sliver, with guards on watch at both sides and the front of the bakery building.

            Shion and Nezumi sat against the back of the building, Nezumi with his trench coat on but the hood off.

            “Do your guards know about me?” Shion asked, licking icing from the bowl he and Nezumi had sneaked out of the kitchen, a midnight snack.

            “I told them I had to meet an old friend to talk about private business, and I needed them to stand guard. That’s all they know.”

            “What about the guard who used to get me home safe,” Shion asked, tentative, wary of bringing up the man who had pulled Nezumi out of the fire when he was just a boy.

            Nezumi had been the Silver King for nearly a month. Shion had gotten into the routine of this new life he and Nezumi lived. He almost didn’t notice, anymore, how much he missed their old life.

            “He didn’t get you home safe.”

            “You can’t honestly be mad at him. It wasn’t his fault.”

            “If he failed to do his job, why should I keep him on my staff?” Nezumi countered.

            Shion turned to stare at him. “You fired him? How could you do that! He’s had this job longer than you’ve been alive! The Silver Royals were all he had! Nezumi, I cannot believe you, how could you be so – ”

            “Calm down, Your Majesty, I didn’t fire him. I asked you why I should keep him on the staff. That doesn’t mean I don’t already have a reason,” Nezumi replied, tiredly.

            Nezumi was tired a lot, lately. Staying up days to deal with his duties to the kingdom, staying up nights to come back to Shion.

            It couldn’t last much longer. Shion knew this. A part of him dreaded when it would end. A part of him crossed his fingers for the day to come faster, faster, faster.

            “What was your reason?” Shion asked, curious, calming down.       

            Nezumi licked icing from his finger. Looked up at the sky that barely housed a moon, only had a couple stars.

            “He knows about you. If anything ever goes wrong, if we need help covering something up, he could be useful,” Nezumi commented, and Shion suspected this was not the real reason, but accepted it.

            “How’s the princess?”

            “She’s a queen now.”

            “Oh. Right. How’s the queen?”

            “Doesn’t it get tiring, asking about her? It’s almost as though she’s your wife,” Nezumi grumbled.

            Shion waited, and Nezumi exhaled deeply, leaned closer to Shion, rested his head on Shion’s shoulder.

            Shion felt the weight of him. Felt as though it grew every day he felt this man’s body over his, but the prince – no, the king – only seemed to be getting thinner, and it didn’t make sense.

            “Her boyfriend is our cook,” Nezumi said, jaw moving against Shion’s shoulder.

            “Her boyfriend?”

            “The guy from her kingdom.”

            “He’s your cook?”

            “She hired him. I didn’t know it was her boyfriend until I walked in on them when I went to get a sandwich,” Nezumi commented, words slowing, voice lowering.

            “Did you – Did you mind?”

            “Mind what?” Nezumi asked, lazily.

            “That you walked in on your wife having sex with your cook?” Shion asked, tilting his head to look down at Nezumi, at the crown of his dark hair that blended into the night.

            “You’re still worried about that? How many times do I have to remind you I don’t think of the woman as my wife?”

            “You live with her. I’ve seen you together, in public,” Shion pressed, knowing Nezumi was falling asleep, feeling the heaviness of Nezumi’s head growing on his shoulder, but he didn’t want to send Nezumi home just yet, the sun hadn’t risen yet, they still had time, they still had time.

            “It’s an act, Shion,” Nezumi sighed, and Shion leaned forward, warily, enough to see that Nezumi’s eyes were closed.

            He shook the king gently. “You can’t fall asleep, Nezumi.”

            _We still have time, we still have time…_

            “An act…” Nezumi was whispering, words slurring into breaths, and even though Shion knew he should wake Nezumi before he fell into too deep a sleep, Shion didn’t move.

            His shoulder began to hurt, under Nezumi’s weight. At least it wasn’t his bad shoulder, but that shoulder had completely healed by now, Shion was completely better now, and there was no evidence left to validate the reason Nezumi had married the princess.

            Almost as if there had never been any reason at all.

            Shion closed his eyes. Leaned his cheek against the crown of Nezumi’s head, felt the soft of Nezumi’s hair rustle against his skin.

            He would rest, just for a moment. Just for a moment.

*

The first thing Shion noticed on waking was the slight discomfort of his arms and shoulders. He attempted to move his arms forward, but instead, they jerked back, and a clattering noise accompanied by a sharp, cool pressure on his wrists alerted Shion that something was wrong.

            He opened his eyes, jerked his arms again, received the same results, and came to the conclusion, as he blinked away sleep, that he had been handcuffed.

            He was on a bed. In the castle, Shion could tell, looking around the gorgeous room, sitting against the headboard of a bed in a room he’d been in once, briefly, until he’d pulled Nezumi back out as they stopped grasping at each others’ clothes long enough to look around and see that this was not in fact Nezumi’s room they’d stumbled into.

            Shion glanced at a movement in the corner by the window, saw that there was someone in the room with him, sitting on a large, ornate chair that Shion hadn’t noticed before.

            “And here I was,” Shion’s companion said, her voice softer than Shion had imagined, when he’d imagined it, “thinking my husband’s girlfriend was some cute little doll-like thing.”

            Shion jostled his wrists again, testing the handcuffs until they dug into his skin, and he stopped. “You’re the princess.”

            “Queen, actually,” the woman said, and Shion leaned forward a little.

            “Sorry.”

            “You’re a man,” the queen said, watching Shion closely, and Shion stared back, having only seen the queen at a distance beforehand.

            She was tall and thin, not unlike Nezumi himself, with long limbs that stretched out when she stood. Shion even wondered if the queen was an inch or two taller than Nezumi.

            She had straight black hair pulled behind her into a low ponytail or braid, wisps of which had escaped to frame her face. Her eyes were a dark brown that looked almost black, and her lips were small and set into a light smile.   

            The queen wore a simple gray dress, just a cloth thing tied with a gold rope around the waist, not to accentuate any curves, as she didn’t have any.

            She looked very much like Nezumi, Shion thought, but that her cheekbones were softer, her eyes rounder, her smile shier. Her hands too, Shion noted, as she tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear, were smaller.

            She was pretty, but unlike Nezumi, Shion doubted the queen could be noticed in a crowd. Shion himself had seen her often, but not managed to pay her much attention when she stood beside Nezumi. She wasn’t quite plain, but her presence seemed quiet, more lovely than stunning, more fair than breathtaking.

            “I didn’t expect you,” the queen said, having walked to the bed now, standing a few feet from Shion. “I cannot picture my husband being in love with a person like you.” The queen looked more curious than anything, and Shion felt as she took in his hair and scar and eyes.

            Shion pulled gently at his handcuffs again. “Where is Nezumi?”

            “I still haven’t called him that. I call him Prince, and he calls me Princess. I don’t know if I’m allowed to call him that,” the queen said, not sounding altogether upset about it, merely as though she was wording her thoughts by accident, voice lofty.

            “Why am I here?”

            The queen focused on Shion’s gaze as if noticing he was talking to her for the first time.

            “A guard was worried about the prince last night, and went to check on him. Found the two of you asleep, and brought you both to the castle. That’s all I know about it,” she said, shrugging, as if she didn’t care at all that Shion was handcuffed to a bed in her house.

            “Why am I handcuffed?”

            “You are his lover, right? Why else would he be with you so late at night? But I simply cannot picture it, my husband with someone like you,” the queen mused, not cruelly, just confused.

            Shion didn’t want to get distracted, but couldn’t help himself at this repetition of her earlier thoughts. “Why not?” he asked, somewhat defensively, and the queen must have heard that in his voice, as she laughed.

            Her laugh was small and light, like a child’s, a trickle of cool rain. “Oh, it’s nothing bad. You’re very handsome. I just always pictured my husband with some frail little thing. Doesn’t he seem awfully protective? I think he might be so very protective, so I imagine him with someone he could protect, a small thing he could only wrap in his arms and keep from the world. Possessive too, I think he could very well be,” the queen commented, almost longingly, Shion thought, but that didn’t make sense.

            “Aren’t you in love with the cook?” Shion blurted out, not thinking, and it came out as an accusation.

            The queen only laughed her trickling laugh again. “Has my husband talked about me? I didn’t think he noticed me. I’m flattered,” she said, indeed sounding truly flattered. “Don’t worry. I am not sad that my husband does not love me. I only imagine it might be nice, to be loved by him. Don’t you think? He’s just so awfully lovely. Not the charm he puts up for the kingdom. I like how quiet he is. There’s something calm about him, I’ve always thought.”

            Shion stared at this queen. She smiled kindly at him, and Shion found that he understood her.

            It was amazing, to be loved by Nezumi. Of course others would feel a longing for what Shion had. He’d barely ever thought about it.

            Shion was just wondering if he should apologize or not for having a relationship with this woman’s husband even though she had a relationship with someone else too, when he heard the shouting.

            “Where the hell is he?”

            It was Nezumi, his voice ringing loudly from the bottom floor of the castle.

            Shion sat up straighter, leaning towards the door. “Do you know why I’m handcuffed?”

            “I do not. I wandered in here to see if I’d left my shawl in here and found you on the bed. You woke up a bit later,” the queen said.

            Shion didn’t reply, trying to make out the voices from below, but they were a jumble now until Nezumi’s came again, this time closer to the room Shion was in: “Dammit, let go of me!”

            More voices then, all of them closer to Shion’s room, and then there was a crash against the door.

            “I hope they don’t break it. This door is quite nice,” the queen commented mildly, looking over at it, and then it burst open.

            “Your Majesty, calm down!” a guard was shouting, one of the two guards holding Nezumi back by the arms. Another guard was behind Nezumi, holding him back by his shoulders.

            “He’s not a threat, you idiots!” Nezumi snapped, and when he caught Shion’s eye, he managed to rip himself free of the guards. One of them grabbed for him again, but Nezumi punched him in the face before coming around the bed to Shion’s side.

            “I’m fine,” Shion insisted, before Nezumi could say anything, but Nezumi didn’t seem to be listening.

            “Have they seriously put handcuffs on you?” he demanded, looking around the back of Shion, and Shion could feel the cool of Nezumi’s fingers along his wrists.

            “Your Majesty, stand back,” another guard said, but Shion noticed that none of them were approaching Nezumi now.

            “Get his handcuffs off,” Nezumi said, straightening up and facing them.

            “We can’t do that.”

            “Now,” Nezumi commanded.

            “This man is a prisoner. He must be questioned,” the guard replied, coolly, not seeming concerned with Nezumi’s anger.

            “I am the king. I’m ordering you to get his handcuffs off.”

            “The Kingdom comes before the King, Your Majesty. I apologize for any inconvenience. He will, of course, be subject to a fair trial and treated to our best accommodations in the meantime.”

            “Trial for what?” Shion piped up, wondering if he was the only one who still didn’t know what was going on.

            “Treason,” the queen said, and everyone looked at her. “Right?” she asked, when nobody said anything.

            “That is correct, Your Majesty.”

            “Treason?” Shion asked.

            “They’re accusing you of breaking kingdom law,” the queen said kindly, as if she were explaining something to a small child.

            “Complete bullshit,” Nezumi muttered, turning again and jostling Shion’s handcuffs. “Have you got a pin or something?”

            “No,” Shion replied, surprised at the question, but then he realized it was not directed at him.

            “Here,” the queen said, reaching out and offering a bobby pin from a pocket in her dress.

            Nezumi took it, continued rustling with Shion’s handcuffs, which at several points pinched Shion’s skin.

            “Ow,” he murmured, flinching.

            “Stay still,” Nezumi replied.

            “Your Majesty, please stop your efforts. The council has been notified and are on their way to ensure the prisoner is properly dealt with.”

            Shion flinched again when Nezumi stabbed him with the bobby pin. “Ow!”

            “These handcuffs are ridiculous,” Nezumi muttered.

            There was a commotion from the bottom floor, and then someone called, “Hello?”

            “Up here!” a guard shouted down.

            “That’s probably the council,” the queen observed, her voice still lofty and seemingly unconcerned, as if she were watching a film that only mildly intrigued her. “Don’t worry, you’ll be in the castle prison, won’t you? It’s nice in there.”

            “You’re okay with me going to prison?” Shion asked, ignoring the continual pinches on his wrist as Nezumi’s efforts hastened.

            “I’m sure my husband won’t let you stay there for long,” the queen replied, smiling again and looking at Nezumi.

            Shion turned to glance at Nezumi as well, but Nezumi again snapped – “Stay still!” – so Shion turned back.

            “Your Majesty, please step away from the prisoner,” came a new voice, and Shion glanced at the door, counted seven professionally-dressed people walking into the room.

            He assumed they were the council, whom he’d never seen before. Four were old enough that Shion knew they would have been in the council since the time of the Silver Royal family, but three were younger than Shion would have expected, with hardly a few years over Shion and Nezumi themselves.

            “He’s not a prisoner,” Nezumi replied mildly.

            “Maybe you should step away,” the queen said, putting a hand on Nezumi’s arm, but Nezumi shook her off.

            “We do not want to hold you back.”

            “Then don’t,” Nezumi countered.

            Shion was certain his wrists must be rubbed raw, from Nezumi’s failed efforts. “Did you know this would happen? If we were caught?” Shion asked. He found it all a bit dramatic. He and Nezumi had only been sleeping, anyway, it wasn’t as though they’d been caught in any truly incriminating position.

            “This is your last warning, Your Majesty. My queen, please stand back.”

            Shion locked eyes with the queen as she stepped back against the window. She offered him another reassuring smile and a small nod.

            She didn’t seem worried, but neither was Shion. He didn’t feel at all threatened, or much like a prisoner either. Nezumi was beside him, and Shion was not anxious. If anything, he was confused by the reactions of the guards and the council members, who were surely overreacting, especially when they stepped forward, reached for Nezumi, two grabbing each arm.

            Nezumi was stronger than these people, Shion knew, and he waited for him to fight the council off, but he didn’t.

            Instead, Nezumi merely yanked himself free and stepped away from them. “I’ll take him,” Nezumi said, voice hard, before he could be grabbed again.

            The guards looked at the council.

            “Nobody touches him, and I’ll take him to the castle prison,” Nezumi said, and then one of the younger members of the council nodded.

            “The guards will escort you.”

            “Fine.”

            The guards nodded, and Nezumi walked back towards Shion.

            “Are you really taking me to a prison?” Shion asked, looking up at him.

            “It’s another room like this one,” Nezumi replied, taking hold of Shion’s arm and pulling Shion gently from the bed.

            “Doesn’t this seem like an overreaction? We just fell asleep.”

            “I am aware of that,” Nezumi replied.

            “It’s treason to fall asleep next to royalty?”

            “Are you asking me to justify this?”

            “Well, you are the one taking me to the prison.”

            “It’s hardly a prison, Shion,” Nezumi sighed.

            “So you’re fine with me being accused of treason and taken prisoner in your own kingdom?” Shion asked, following as Nezumi led him down the stairs to the floor above the bottom floor, then along another hall.

            “If you stay in the room I put you in, they’ll take off your handcuffs. Your wrists are bleeding,” Nezumi said, shortly, and Shion tried to look over his shoulder, almost tripped over his feet, felt Nezumi’s hands on his arms, steadying him.

            “So what happens next? After you take me to this room?” Shion asked, but then Nezumi was stopping, opening a door, gesturing for Shion to walk in.

            Shion stepped forward, noting that the room was how Nezumi had described – like any other room in the kingdom, equipped even with a living area.

            “How did you know this was the prison?”

            “Guards gave me a tour my first day.”

            “It’s really nice.”

            “Glad you like it,” Nezumi said dryly, not looking at Shion, but back out the doorway. “Take off the handcuffs now.”

            A guard walked in, surprising Shion, who had forgotten they’d been escorted. The guard walked behind him, and Shion felt the relief on his wrists as the handcuffs were taken off.

            He pulled his arms forward, wincing at the soreness, and examined his wrists, both of which had small scrapes on them. He was bleeding, but not by much, and the cuts seemed clotted already.

            “The council will need to question you both separately before you may converse with the prisoner privately,” the guard said.

            “Of course they will,” Nezumi said, shaking his head before turning to Shion. “If they do anything to you, yell, and I’ll come.”

            “I don’t think they’re going to do anything to me,” Shion remarked, trying to hide his smile. He thought that of everyone who was overreacting, Nezumi’s protective nature was one of the most dramatic responses.

            But then he remembered why Nezumi was perhaps being so careful, recalling the last time Shion had been hurt, and Shion nodded seriously, trying to reassure Nezumi that he was safe, that he would be fine, that none of this was Nezumi’s fault, it had never been Nezumi’s fault.

            “Okay, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked at him a moment, eyes slipping to Shion’s wrists for hardly a second, then he turned and walked back out of the room after the guard, closing the door behind him.

            Shion looked around the now-empty room. He assumed a member of the council, or perhaps the entire council, would be coming in at some point, but he didn’t know if he’d be questioned first, or if Nezumi would.

            He wondered if Nezumi would lie or not. He wondered if he himself was supposed to lie.

            A part of Shion, as he paced the room, examining his surroundings, couldn’t help but feel relieved at this strange turn of events.

            At least something was changing. At least now, no matter what happened next, Shion wouldn’t have to hide this man he loved, and Nezumi wouldn’t have to hide him.

*

Shion watched the clock, saw that it was one hour until anyone came into the room.

            It was the guard who used to escort Shion back to the bakery, followed by the entire council.

            “Hello, sir,” the guard said, and Shion smiled, happy to see him despite the circumstances.

            “Hi. Are you questioning me?”

            “The Silver King asked me to be present during your questioning,” the guard replied, and Shion was glad that Nezumi still trusted this guard. “In here, sir,” the guard said, leading Shion to the living area in his room, and Shion sat across the table from the council members, the guard standing a step behind him and to the side.

            “State your name,” said one of the council members, an older woman with grey-streaked hair pulled into a braid at her side.

            “Shion.”

            “Do you know why you have been taken into the custody of the Silver Kingdom?”

            “I’m being accused of treason,” Shion replied, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

            “You are suspected of betraying one of the most sacred laws of this kingdom, and by doing so, in addition betraying the newly crowned Silver Queen.”

            Shion blinked, thinking of the cook with whom the queen was also having an affair with, but he said nothing.

            “This is a serious accusation. The long-standing law stating that a member of the royal family is prohibited from engaging in a relationship with a member of his or her kingdom was not put in place without grave consideration. It is meant to protect the royal family.”

            “I’m not going to hurt the king,” Shion interjected.

            The council woman gave Shion a stern glance before continuing. “It is also meant to protect the people of the kingdom. Royal families are to be impartial when dealing with their subjects. Subjects are to be respectful and reverent when in the presence of royals. The kingdoms have thrived this way for as long as their history began. Weakness in this tradition is a threat to not only the structure of the kingdom, but the customs and beliefs that we hold. An emotional or physical bond equalizes the relationship that is meant to differentiate a royal member and a subject of his kingdom. It incites lenience on the side of royalty, as one cannot impartially rule over an equal. It incites rebellion on the side of the subject, as one cannot accept the dominance of an equal.”

            Shion wanted to say that this was all ridiculous, that he had no intention of hurting Nezumi nor blackmailing or demanding any special favor from him, but he held his tongue, still not having decided whether or not to lie to the council members about his and Nezumi’s relationship.

            “You were caught alone with the Silver King behind Karan’s Bakery in a compromising position at one fifteen this morning. It is believed with strong evidence that you were in this position for two hours previous to the time a Silver Guard found you. Please state for the council in appropriate detail what were you doing with the Silver King at this time.”

            Shion curled one hand over his other wrist, rubbing the raw of his skin gently.

            “Sleeping,” he said, because denying this would be silly. The guards had seen him, after all.

            “Elaborate,” the council woman said, leaning across the table.

            Shion glanced from her to the other members of the council, then back to her again. “I believe the king was tired. He fell asleep first. If I moved, I would have woken him. So I stayed where I was, and eventually I also fell asleep, apparently,” Shion said, calmly.

            The council woman narrowed her eyes. “What is your relationship with the Silver King?”

            “He’s my king, and I’m his subject,” Shion replied, squeezing his wrist.

            “Have you and the Silver King previously engaged in physical contact?”

            Shion looked at her for a moment. “Yes. We have been friends since we were both very young. When we were kids, he used to sleep in my bed. He sometimes pushed me, or pulled on my hair. I bandaged his wounds once, and he bandaged mine. I hugged him after his performance as the lost prince at the theater. Sometimes when I get carried away talking about something, I don’t look where I’m going, and trip over my feet – he would often grab my arm to keep me from falling. When we rehearsed his plays together, we would follow the stage directions, which often involved physical contact,” Shion recited, knowing there were more things, the images of Nezumi touching him over the years flitting through his head, but he figured this was a good enough list to satisfy the council woman.

            “Allow me to rephrase, Shion,” the council woman said, slowly. “Have you and the Silver King previously engaged in sexual contact?”

            “Does holding hands count as sexual contact?” Shion asked.

            “Have you kissed the Silver King?” the council woman asked, a bit sharply.

            Shion thought about sitting on his bed, watching Nezumi lean closer to him, feeling those lips on his and not knowing he was being kissed until after the fact, after the warmth of it had already settled in his skin.

            He thought about the kiss that followed, deep as the deepest parts of the sea. He thought about the opening of lips and the wetness of tongues and the pressure of breath on his upper lip.

            “His plays often involve kissing. When we rehearsed, he would kiss me as per stage instructions, yes,” Shion said, because this was true.

            He had been kissed by Nezumi many times, before he even thought of counting it, and he thought about how Nezumi would chastise him, tell him to put more passion in it, this was Shakespeare, after all, these characters were in love, after all.

            Shion tried to keep himself from smiling.

            “Have you had sex with the Silver King?” the council woman asked, coolly, and Shion thought about the burn of Nezumi’s fingers over his skin, the peel of their clothing, the tangle of limbs, the confusion and the hesitation and the wary fingers and the tensing legs and toes digging into the mattress and Nezumi’s whisper in his ear, asking if he should stop, if it hurt, and Shion forcing open his clenched eyes, telling Nezumi not to stop, never to stop.

            Shion thought about the laughs that slipped out, the curse Nezumi offered at the awkwardness of it, the sweat pooling at the roots of his hair, the arching of backs, the grasping of fingers, the sharpest inhales and the deepest exhales and all of the breaths exchanged in between.

            “No,” Shion said, after another moment, but the council woman did not appear either relieved nor disappointed.

            “I will ask you one more time, Shion, reminding you that we have questioned the Silver King separately, reminding you that to lie to the council about such charges will worsen any chance of leniency on your sentence. Have you had sex with the Silver King?”

            Shion thought about lying in bed afterwards, with heaving chests. Thought about Nezumi leaning up on his elbow, thought about the spill of dark hair that tickled Shion’s chin. The smile that Nezumi pressed into his skin. The gentle fingers over Shion’s hips afterwards, as if Shion were made of snow, and Nezumi was scared to melt him. The heaviness of eyelids and the chill that came with the cooling of sweat.

            “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer your questions. It is none of your business,” Shion replied, finally, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat, wondered if he was making the wrong decision, maybe he should have just lied, maybe he should have just pretended, maybe he should have just kept up this act.

            But he was sick of it. Wouldn’t do it any longer.

            “If you refuse to answer, we’ll have to assume you’re guilty. Do you understand that?”

            “Guilty of what? Of falling in love? Of being loved?” Shion asked, leaning closer to this woman, looking her in the eye, wondering if she truly thought it could be wrong, to love.

            The council woman traced her lip with the tip of her finger, watched Shion carefully. “The Silver King was not forced to claim his throne. But he has made that choice, and is now a royal. That comes with responsibilities. This kingdom is to be under his care, and to fall in love with a subject is to compromise that care. We as a council have a duty to check that the Royal Family is never compromised.”

            “Do you truly think Nezumi would do any less of a job if he was in a relationship with me?” Shion asked.

            “I think you can understand why it would be unwise to wait and find out,” the woman said.

            “Don’t you want your king to be happy? This is the lost prince that the kingdom has waited for, believed in, for years,” Shion objected.

            “In the years the kingdom has waited, it has thrived without the leadership of royalty and become self-sufficient. The people are no longer willing to blindly follow whatever a royal says or does. The duty of the royals has always been, and is now more than ever, to serve the people. For the Silver King to betray the trust and traditions of this kingdom so soon after he has been crowned would be detrimental to the stability of this kingdom, and to the faith the people have in the Royal Family.”

            Shion shook his head. It was too much. He was tired of hearing the excuses, the silly rationale for why he and Nezumi could not simply live their lives with the freedom they’d had before Nezumi was ever accused of being the lost prince.

            “I’m sorry, but I cannot cooperate with you. This law I’m accused of doesn’t serve any actual purpose but some hypothetical nonsense made up to justify a fear of change. It hardly upholds any of the ideals and beliefs I’ve ever thought this kingdom stood for my entire life living here,” Shion replied, leaning back, having made his decision and resolving not to change his mind.

            If Nezumi had taught him anything, it was how to be stubborn in the face of threat.

            The council woman scrutinized Shion. “Would you like to know the punishment of treason, Shion?”

            “A life in this prison?” Shion guessed, thinking it might be nice, to live in the castle with Nezumi. He would miss his mother and the bakery, of course, but he was assuming he’d receive visitation rights, and he was certain if not Nezumi would sneak his mother in.

            He could set up a doctor’s office within the castle after completing his studies. See patients in his room, perhaps create an office out of the this living space.

            “Banishment from the kingdom.”

            Shion stopped looking around the room, imagining his revisions. “Banishment?”

            “That is correct.”

            “Who made that sentence?” Shion demanded, completely bewildered as to the severity of such a punishment for breaking such a meaningless law.

            “It has been in the books for as long as the kingdoms were formed.”

            “That’s really ridiculous. And besides, I haven’t admitted anything,” Shion replied.

            “A refusal to defend yourself is an omission of guilt.”

            “What? That doesn’t make any sense. I was told I had a right to a fair trial,” Shion objected, sitting up, squinting at this council woman who must have been lying. No kingdom could operate on such unjust laws. Shion had never heard of this complete authoritarianism.

            “This kingdom has already lost their royal family once. We are not willing to lose it again.”

            “The only way Nezumi is going to leave is if you keep up this loyalty to a law that makes no sense. If you let him have the relationships he wants, you’re not going to lose him.”

            “The royal family will lose its integrity if ever joined with a subject of the kingdom.”

            “Your king himself was a subject of the kingdom just weeks ago!” Shion shouted.

            “It is this lack of respect for the Silver King that proves you are a threat to the kingdom,” the council woman replied, coolly, leaning back and standing up, as did the other council members who still remained silent. “I can see we will be getting nowhere with you. If you change your mind and wish to properly engage in this interrogation, alert the guard that will be stationed outside your door.”

            “Nezumi is not going to let you banish me from the kingdom,” Shion said, standing up as well, calling out to the council who was leaving the room now, but the woman turned back.

            “The Silver King has no say in most proceedings. He is a symbol to rally in this kingdom loyalty and faith and a sense of pride. It would do you well, to stop acting under the impression that anything you do will be excused thanks to your special relation with the king. The Royal Family has always been powerless, Shion. An image, and that is all,” the council woman replied, and then she was gone, leaving Shion turning to the guard who still stood behind him.

            “Is that true? The royals have no say in anything?”

            “She will regret saying that. It is not for subjects of the kingdom to know,” the guard replied, walking towards the door as well.

            Shion followed him. “So the royals are just meant to smile and wave and look good and put on some act?”

            “The reason there are royal families in the first place, sir, is to give the kingdom leaders to love and to believe in. This unifies the people under a common faith. That can be as valuable as any law or policy.”

            “This is awful!” Shion shouted, incredulous.

            “I am sorry you feel that way.”

            “Does Nezumi know this?” Shion demanded.

            “I do not believe the council ever actually informs the royal family of their true role. I’m sure, however, that the Silver King will catch on soon enough. I doubt he will be very happy about his true duty to his kingdom.”

            “Being just a pretty face is not a duty to a kingdom. It’s a lie.”

            The guard just looked at Shion for a moment, then nodded. “Perhaps lies are necessary,” he said, and then he walked out the door, made to close it, then stopped and looked back in through the doorway. “I will be standing outside your door. If you need anything, do not hesitate to knock and request.”

            The door closed, and Shion heard the click of a lock. Tentatively, he walked forward, tried the handle – locked from the inside.

            Shion stepped back from it. He didn’t understand how he could live in this kingdom for so long and know so little about it. More importantly, he didn’t know what to do now that he understood the reality of his kingdom life.

            Shion walked to the sole small window in the room, a fraction of the size of the huge window spanning across an entire wall of Nezumi’s room.

            Shion had to stand on his tiptoes to peer out of it, but his view was nothing but a stone wall that must have jutted out from another corner of the kingdom.

            Shion turned, leaned against the wall, rested his head back. He was feeling tired from a night of interrupted sleep, but thought it unwise to simply go to bed now.

            He wanted to be ready, but for what, he did not know.

*


	10. Chapter 10

“Your Majesty.”

            Shion woke suddenly, squinting in the light of the room. He was slumped on the floor against the wall, realized he must have fallen asleep while trying to think of a solution to his and Nezumi’s problem.

            Nezumi crouched in front of him, a hand on Shion’s shoulder that he rose up Shion’s neck, along his jawline.

            “You’re allowed to use the bed, you know,” he said, lips twitching.

            Shion rubbed his eyes, sitting upright. One of his legs was asleep.

            “They let you in here?”

            “Of course,” Nezumi replied, as if Shion wasn’t being kept in prison for having an affair with him. “The guard told me you haven’t eaten yet.”

            “What time is it?”

            “After seven in the afternoon. You haven’t eaten all day. I ordered you food, it should be up soon.”

            “I fell asleep,” Shion explained, rolling his shoulders, his body aching from his slouched position.

            “I can see that.”

            “Do you know what’s going on?”

            “With what?” Nezumi asked distractedly, fingers stretching into Shion’s hair, combing through it slowly.

            “Me. Us. This whole treason accusation.”

            “It’s not necessarily an empty accusation. You did commit treason,” Nezumi commented.

            “Nezumi! My punishment is banishment!”

            Nezumi dropped his hand from Shion’s hair, stood up and stretched before offering a hand to Shion, who took it, letting the man pull him up, shaking out his leg which felt filled with pins and needles.

            “You’re not getting banished, Shion.”

            “You don’t know that. Did you know you have no say in anything? You’re just a figurehead, literally. Apparently, the royals are just there so the kingdom can be united under worshipping them,” Shion said, tapping his foot on the floor to test it, wincing as the pins and needles shot up and down more vigorously with each tap.

            “Fascinating,” Nezumi said, not sounding at all fascinated, and in fact turning away from Shion completely and walking to the door at the knock.

            “Nezumi, you should – Ow!” Shion winced, as when he’d taken a step forward, putting his weight on his numbed leg, the staticky feeling escalated, and he was forced to step back again and wait the recovery of his circulation out.

            Meanwhile, Nezumi stuck his head out the door, then stepped back in with a tray of food in his hand, which he walked to the living area table after closing the door behind him.

            Shion tested his foot again, found that the numb feeling had mostly passed, and followed Nezumi into the living area.

            “Eat,” Nezumi said, gesturing to the plate of sandwiches, chips, and cookies. “Courtesy of my wife’s boyfriend.”

            “Was that the cook out there?” Shion asked, wishing he’d seen the man.

            “Nah, another guard,” Nezumi replied, sitting across from Shion and grabbing a chip.

            “Why don’t you seem concerned about any of this? What did you tell the council?”

            “I heard you refused to talk. The council wasn’t too happy with you,” Nezumi replied, leaning back in his chair and scrutinizing Shion.

            “It’s none of their business what we do! If they’d asked you the same questions, you’d understand why I didn’t say anything,” Shion protested.

            “They probably did ask the same questions.”

            “What did you say?”

            “You do realize the reason you passed out against the wall is because you haven’t eaten all day, right?” Nezumi asked, and Shion glared at him.

            “Since when were you so worried about having three square meals a day? Tell me what is going on!”

            Nezumi exhaled deeply. “You’re so dramatic,” he said, shaking his head, as if he was one to talk. “You don’t have to worry about the council anymore.”

            Shion waited for explanation and received none. “What does that mean?”

            “It means you’re no longer a prisoner, nor are you going to be banished, so you can stop worrying yourself and eat something.”

            “Why wouldn’t I have to worry about the council anymore?”

            “Because I’m going to banish them,” Nezumi replied.

            “What? You can’t just banish them! They’re not going to leave without a fight, which they’ll probably win, seeing as apparently they are the ones with the actual power in this kingdom.”

            “I should have known you’d be difficult. If you eat, I’ll explain,” Nezumi sighed, and Shion considered, then gave in.

            “Fine,” he said, picking up a sandwich and taking a bite before raising his eyebrows at Nezumi, who sat back in his chair.

            “After your little questioning session, the council was pretty pissed. I also refused to answer their questions, and usually the council just does what they want, but the problem was that I’d sent the guard in to be with you while you were questioned, just as I had him stay with me when I was questioned.”

            “Why was that a problem?” Shion asked, around a mouthful of bread.

            “Haven’t I told you not to talk with your mouth full?” Nezumi asked, and Shion stopped himself from arguing with the man, nodding to indicate that he was ready to listen again.

            Nezumi pulled his ponytail out from his hair, tucking the loose strands behind his ears, then stood up, and Shion watched the man pace, wanting to tell him to hurry up but knowing Nezumi liked his dramatic pauses, always had to be so theatrical.

            Nezumi stopped walking at the small bookcase at the wall of the living area, plucking a book out and shifting through the pages before speaking, not looking up from the book.

            “The guard was a problem because he was a witness. The council was angry enough at our refusals to confess that the guard became worried, and came to me after your questioning, after he’d heard their discussion in the hall,” Nezumi said, and his voice was clipped.

            Shion sat forward in his chair, confused at Nezumi’s change in demeanor, but knowing better than to interrupt.

            “As you know, the guard has been in this kingdom since my parents’ reign,” Nezumi said, and Shion was surprised that he’d called the deceased Silver King and Queen his parents. “So were a few of the council members. The guard informed me that he’d witnessed the council members getting angry once before, at my parents.”

            Nezumi’s voice was hard now, and Shion almost flinched at how angry he sounded.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “According to this guard, my parents didn’t always agree with the council. They thought the laws in place were too conservative, should change with the times. The council members disagreed. They informed my parents that royals were simply figureheads, but my parents were not too happy with this answer, fought back, threatened to bring the matter to the people of the kingdom,” Nezumi said, toneless now, anger having given way to a monotone that worried Shion.

            He wanted to ask Nezumi to sit back down beside him, to stop talking, to take a breath. He could see the tightness of Nezumi’s jaw, the flinch of it between his words, the clench and unclench of Nezumi’s hands by his sides.

            “The council didn’t like that. They liked their power, the ability to rule over the kingdom without having to worry about a public image, as the royals took care of that. But after my parents threatened to go over their heads, the council decided they might be better off without any royals at all, getting in their way. They wanted to be the ones in charge, didn’t want to have to deal with sharing their power.”

            Shion swallowed. From Nezumi’s anger, he could guess what happened next, but hoped he was wrong, wanted Nezumi to only look at him.

            But Nezumi still wouldn’t look his way. He no longer looked at the book either, which he’d closed in his hand, but straight ahead, at the opposite wall of the room, though Shion had a feeling he was seeing something else entirely.

            “People do many things when they want power, Shion,” Nezumi said, lightly now, his voice so soft Shion was surprised he could hear the man.

            “Nezumi…”

            “There were two survivors of the massacre that killed my family. Myself and the guard that carried me out. I’d forgotten, of course, or maybe hadn’t even seen the council members starting the fire, but the guard had, and the council members in turn saw the guard carrying me. They didn’t know that the guard made it out alive, nor that I did, and so the guard never came forward to expose what the council had done. By coming forward, he would have revealed that he was alive, and the council would have known that I’d likely survived too. The guard told me he was worried they would come after me. So he stayed silent. He let the council take over the kingdom, let them believe that I was lost.”

            Nezumi stopped speaking for a moment, and Shion caught his breath, as if he had been the one who was talking.

            Shion thought about the council woman who had questioned him. He could not imagine her murdering Nezumi’s family. Burning the people Nezumi had loved to the ground.

            But he didn’t find it hard to believe that she had put on an act. That the council members who had done this were acting innocent, pretending to care about the royal family, pretending to want what was best for the kingdom.

            “When I claimed my throne, the guard resurfaced as well. Came back to the kingdom staff to protect me, in case the council tried to finish what they’d started,” Nezumi said, quietly.

            “Why didn’t he tell you about the council before? Why didn’t he warn you?” Shion asked, unable to stop himself from speaking up.

            Nezumi glanced at him, looking surprised, as if he’d forgotten Shion was there entirely. But then his expression softened, and he returned the book to its shelf, came back over to the table where Shion sat and took the seat beside Shion, looked at Shion carefully.

            “I asked him that too. He said he worried what I would do, if I knew who killed my family,” Nezumi replied.

            Shion nodded. He understood. He was worried, now, what Nezumi would do. Didn’t want Nezumi do to anything rash. Knew Nezumi must be angry – Shion himself was shaking, thinking of how he’d just spoken to those monsters around this very same table – but Shion didn’t want Nezumi going out and doing something that would turn him into someone he wasn’t.

            “Why did the guard tell you now? Did he think because the council was angry that another royal was trying to change their laws, they’d try to kill you again?” Shion asked.

            “He said they were pissed because I was already showing signs of rebellion, the same as my parents. I already wanted to change their stupid laws, and they weren’t going to allow that. Yes, he thinks they would have tried to kill me. He has decided to tell the rest of the kingdom what he told me, and of course, the people of the kingdom won’t put up with that. They love their traditions, but more than that, they loved my parents. They’ll drive the council out of the kingdom.”

            Shion absorbed this information slowly. “Nezumi – Does that mean you won’t…” Shion trailed off, unsure how to word what he was thinking, but Nezumi smiled lightly – a bit forced, but Shion could tell the man was trying to comfort him.

            “I’m not going to get my revenge on the council members and murder them. I did consider it. But I don’t think – I don’t think you would like that,” Nezumi said, voice slightly strained, and Shion leaned forward, placed his hand over Nezumi’s fist, which was clenched on top of his knee.

            “Thank you, Nezumi,” Shion said, gently.

            Nezumi looked away from him, though he unclenched his fist, turned his hand over and strung his fingers through Shion’s, squeezed them softly.

            “It wasn’t the lunatics who hovered outside the castle,” Nezumi said, after a minute, and Shion blinked.

            “What?” he asked, and Nezumi glanced back at him.

            “It was members of the council who knocked you out and dropped you on my doorstep.”

            Shion stared. “How do you know that?”

            “I asked a council member.”

            “When? Why would they confess?”

            “It was the old woman,” Nezumi said, fingers flinching just barely against Shion’s. “I may have…not made up my mind about whether I was going to snap her neck or not, and while I had her in a bit of a painful position, I asked her to confess. She confessed to both what the guard told me, and to what happened to you. That was a bit of a surprise. I don’t really know how she came out alive after that,” Nezumi mused, voice lofty as if discussing anything other than the fact that he’d nearly killed a woman an hour or so before.

            “Nezumi!”

            “She’ll be fine,” Nezumi said, sighing as if Shion was overreacting.

            Shion thought to chastise the man again, but he could understand Nezumi’s anger, and decided to let it slide.

            “When will the guard speak to the kingdom?”

            “He’s doing so right now, I believe, but the council has already packed their bags. The new members who hadn’t been on the council during my parents’ time quit. I told them they were not needed, and they agreed. I don’t know if they’ll stay in the kingdom or not, and I don’t particularly care. They have close to the same mindset as the older members, so I have no need for them. The others have the good sense to realize that once the kingdom knows what they’ve done, they wouldn’t do so well to stick around much longer. I also think they’re worried I might change my mind about letting them off so easily.”

            “So even if the kingdom doesn’t believe the guard, the council is gone,” Shion said.

            Nezumi nodded. “I do think the kingdom will believe him, even so. Many of the older people of the kingdom probably recognize him, as he has always been a personal guard for the royals, by their side at all events. He is trusted by this kingdom, and of course, I’ll be making an announcement later, backing the guard’s information and calming down people who are still worried or confused.”

            Shion thought about this, how the threat of the council seemed to be gone, what that might mean for the kingdom as a whole, as well as he and Nezumi. But before Shion could be too relieved, he remembered their other realities. “But…You’re still married to the princess.”

            “Very observant, Your Majesty,” Nezumi replied.    

            “The kingdom probably won’t be very happy if you get divorced.”

            “Some people probably won’t, like those idiots who used to linger outside my castle. But I work at a theater. I know most people are suckers for star-crossed lovers fighting for each other against all odds. I don’t think they’ll mind so much, knowing that their king still gets his happily ever after, even if it’s not with the queen. Besides, it isn’t as though the queen won’t also be getting her happy ending. Two love stories for the price of one, what more could the kingdom ask for?”

            “Did you just call us star-crossed lovers?” Shion asked, a bit dazed.

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to annoy me?”

            “You’re the one who said it. You also said being with me would be your happily ever after. And that we have a love story,” Shion recited.

            “That’s a yes, then, you are trying to annoy me,” Nezumi grumbled, taking his hand from Shion’s.

            Shion smiled, but wasn’t quite ready to trust happiness so easily. “So that’s it then? Everything is just magically fixed?”

            “I’d hardly call it magic,” Nezumi said.

            “But don’t you think suddenly everything is just…I don’t know…Too good to be true?” Shion asked, warily.

            Nezumi cupped his palm around Shion’s cheek. “When a crazy kid with no obligation to help me at all found me in a storm and offered me warmth and shelter and dry clothes and food and companionship, that was too good to be true. I think to compare that moment to now would be to lower my standards quite a bit, don’t you?”

            “Those are pretty high standards,” Shion conceded, leaning into Nezumi’s palm.

            “I am the king, so I deserve nothing but the best – Isn’t that how royalty works?” Nezumi asked, smirking.

            Shion knew Nezumi was joking, but when he nodded against Nezumi’s palm, he wasn’t just playing along.

            Yes, Nezumi deserved nothing but the best. He deserved everything, everything, everything, and Shion was so relieved that Nezumi’s everything was him, and only him, and all of him.

*

Within a week, Shion was only just getting used to his new life.

            The kingdom, as Nezumi had predicted, had quickly turned on the council, as well as celebrated Shion, who found himself shy at the thought of standing by Nezumi’s side in front of the crowd of the entire kingdom.

            Instead of making any kind of announcement together, Nezumi informed Shion the morning after the council had left the kingdom that the kingdom knew about Shion, and wholly approved.

            “What did you say to them?” Shion asked, curiosity at its peak as to how Nezumi made this particular announcement.

            “If you were there, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Nezumi replied.

            “Tell me!”

            But Nezumi did not, and so Shion was left to imagine it, which he did not mind at all, thinking of all the things Nezumi might have said about him.

            The kingdom, again as Nezumi had foreseen, did not seem too upset at the separation of their royal couple. After hearing what the council had done to Nezumi’s parents, any reservations anyone had about the lost prince dissolved, and everyone seemed to want the king’s happiness at any cost. The fact that the queen was staying in the castle even after her separation from the king with her own newly announced partner instead was the opposite of tradition, and yet was equally celebrated. It seemed that any thought of tradition had become tainted with the remembrance of what the council had stood for, and the people of the kingdom, on hearing about the council’s acts against their beloved deceased Silver King and Queen, seemed keen to shun anything to do with the council.

            And so the queen and the cook – who still remained the cook, despite the end of the secrecy of his affair – and Shion and Nezumi all lived in the castle. It was too big, they’d decided, for just two people, as none of them were accustomed to nor really comfortable with such excessive opulence but the queen. The queen, however, told Shion one night as they baked in the kitchen that she had grown a strong fondness for her ex-husband, and had no wish to leave his castle.

            Shion didn’t know what to say to this, but knew from the queen’s kind smile that she wasn’t any threat, and Shion couldn’t blame her for simply wanting to be near to Nezumi.

            Who wouldn’t?

            Yet, despite the king and queen’s separation, the queen was still known as the queen.

            “What am I, then?” Shion asked, spread out on Nezumi’s bed a week after he’d moved into the castle, eating a strip of bacon that the cook had delivered to their room.

            “What?” Nezumi asked, pacing as he practiced a new script.

            “If the queen is still the queen, and the rest of the kingdom refers to the cook as the cook even though they know he’s with the queen, and you’re still the king, what do they call me?”

            Nezumi smiled at his script book, but said nothing.

            “What?” Shion asked, sitting up.

            “How should I know?” Nezumi asked, but his smirk grew, and Shion knew the man was hiding something.

            “Shouldn’t I be a king too?” Shion asked, after deciding it’d be useless to try and pry the truth from Nezumi. He resolved to just ask the guard later.

            “Why should you be a king?” Nezumi asked, looking up from his script.

            “Well, we’re together, and I’m not a queen, obviously.”

            “We’re not married.”

            “Are you going to marry me, then?” Shion demanded, and Nezumi raised an eyebrow.

            “Not if you propose like that, Your Majesty,” he replied, and then he looked back at his script, and Shion sighed, lying back down.

            He was starting his internship at the doctor’s office later that day, but didn’t feel like getting out of bed to get ready as yet. He lifted the breakfast tray from the mattress and placed it on the floor, then leaned up on his elbows to look at Nezumi.

            “Come back to bed.”

            “We can’t all be lazy like you. Some of us have a kingdom to run.”

            “You’re not running a kingdom right now, you’re reading a script.”

            “Have you noticed how dramatic the people in this kingdom are? They thrive on the theater,” Nezumi retorted, but even so, he came back to the bed, stretching out next to Shion with his script book still in his hand.

            Shion took it from him, threw it off the bed.

            “That was unnecessary,” Nezumi commented, as Shion curled around him, wrapping his arms around Nezumi’s waist.

            “My mom wants to visit again soon.”

            “Tell her to come today.”

            “I start my internship today.”

            “I’ll be here, why can’t she visit me?” Nezumi asked, childishly.

            “I’m her son.”

            “I’m her king.”

            “Fine, I’ll tell her to come when I get back from my internship. Shouldn’t be much later than five or so.”

            “Mm. Why are you doing this internship again?” Nezumi asked, freeing his arm from under Shion’s body and lifting it to weave his fingers through Shion’s hair.

            “Just because I live in the castle, doesn’t mean I don’t want to work,” Shion replied. “You should understand, you still work at the theater.”

            “The theater is enjoyable now that my manager worships me instead of wasting his time breathing down my neck. I doubt sticking band-aids on germ-ridden kids will be as rewarding.”

            “I happen to like sticking band-aids on germ-ridden kids. That’s how I met you, if you’ll recall.”

            “I was obviously an exception. Don’t be expecting all those kids to be as great as I was.”

            “You threatened to kill me I think three times in the first twenty-four hours that we knew each other.”

            “Don’t exaggerate,” Nezumi said, and Shion merely smiled, rested his cheek on Nezumi’s chest.

            “I really should get out of bed soon,” Shion murmured, closing his eyes.

            “You should,” Nezumi agreed, all the same taking his hand from Shion’s hair and lowering his arm, wrapping it tight around Shion, preventing him from going anywhere.

            Shion couldn’t say he particularly minded too much.

*

When Shion got back from the first day of his internship, Karan was already at the castle. Shion found her, Nezumi, the cook, and the queen in the kitchen, where the queen watched from the kitchen table while Karan and the cook attempted to teach Nezumi how to make a multi-layer cake, ignoring Nezumi’s protests that he already knew how and did not need their advice.

            After giving his mother a hug, Shion left the kitchen to change his internship uniform, and on walking back downstairs after changing, ran into the guard, who was just entering the castle.

            “Good evening, sir, how was your first day?” the guard asked, and Shion smiled at him.

            “Really great, thank you! I learned a lot even though I just started. I’m already excited for tomorrow’s lessons.”

            “I’m glad to hear that, sir.”

            Shion was about to turn away before he remembered what he wanted to ask the guard. “Do you happen to know what the people of the kingdom refer to me as? I asked my internship advisor, but he said everyone just calls me Shion. I think he might have been lying, though, as Nezumi was laughing about it when I asked him.”

            The guard looked at Shion for a moment. “I do know what the kingdom refers to you as,” he said, after a pause.

            “What?” Shion asked.

            “They call you Prince Charming.”

            “Prince Charming?” Shion echoed, bemused.

            “Because you charmed the lost prince,” the guard replied, lips twitching.

            “But – But Prince Charming has that name because he is a charming prince, not because he charmed a prince!” Shion objected.

            “I don’t think the people of the kingdom are too concerned over the accuracy of the nickname, sir,” the guard replied.

            “Yo, Your Majesty, get in here and look at this amazing rose I just made with icing!” called Nezumi, from the kitchen, and Shion turned at the sound of his voice.

            “You shouldn’t keep the king waiting, sir,” the guard said, and Shion agreed.

            Whether Nezumi was royalty, a king, a prince, or just a boy in the rain, Shion would come to his call.

            Wasn’t that what it meant, to be in love?

 

THE END


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